What the Mortals Don't Know
by BunnyGoBoom
Summary: We all know the story of Henry, Jasper, and Maggie: or at least we think we do. The whole truth is dark, dangerous... and one of the best-kept secrets in history. Can Henry survive long enough to prevent the impending war? Think of this as really intricate headcanon.
1. Prologue: En Arkhe

The world really can be entertaining at times, especially if the Immortals are involved. Mortals are a decent source of amusement, of course, and I watch them regularly, if only to scoff or chuckle at their sappy or lustful attempts at romance. Silly little things. I mean, really, most of them don't have a damned clue – but I digress. This particular time, I was observing the world because something quite momentous was happening. The primary person involved was completely unaware of this, and being as young as he was, I doubt he was aware of much of anything to begin with.

Truth be told, this story started several thousand years ago, shortly after the Olympians defeated the Titans and began their rule on Mount Olympus. Telling the story from the beginning would be the properly sequential thing to do, but it would take a dreadfully long time to recount. I would rather begin with the "particular time" I so vaguely referred to earlier. If you beg me to do otherwise, I will ignore you. If you complain about or rudely insult my storytelling skills, then I will take my bow and arrow and shoot you. You wouldn't die, but instead fall madly in love with a repulsive, snarling beast. Does that sound nice? No? Then keep your mouth shut and let me tell the story.

Phaidros was incredibly old, and he had been through quite a lot, but he was still jittery with nervous energy. The Fates had decreed it was time for that very special thing to happen, that thing he and his eleven brothers, one sister, and twelve thousand-ish sons, daughters, nieces and nephews had been waiting for: the return of their matriarch. I could speak of her in more detail, but I'll save that for later.

This return would not happen easily, however. The gods never like to make things easy for people. Where's the fun in that? There'd be no adventures if things were achieved easily. Anyway, steps were to be taken in order for this event to occur, and the first step began with Phaidros.

I've just realized I have no choice but to start from the very beginning. Any sniggering will be most unappreciated and will result in an immediate infatuation with a rabid weasel.

Ἔν ἀρχᾖ, ( pronounced _en arkhē, _means "in the beginning" in Ancient Greek.) when the earth was still relatively new and the Titans were recently defeated, there was a girl. She was – and still is – as beautiful on the inside as my beloved wife Psyche is on the outside. This mattered very little to anybody, save her parents. And she, as the saying goes, had a face only a mother could love. Perhaps that is too harsh, though: the girl was homely and unremarkable. There, that's not so bad. But wait, now I'm being dishonest. Umm... She was very ugly. Her features were irregular, her hair was coarse and dull, her eyes were mud puddles, her nose was comically large, and her skin was splotchy and blemished. Not very nice, I know, but that's the truth.

Part of the reason her parents loved her so dearly, aside from her wonderful personality, was the fact that she was a miracle. Her ten siblings before her had all died before their first birthday, and her mother prayed unceasingly that their eleventh would not die. When she was born, they even named her Zosima, meaning "viable" or "likely to survive". Names really do shape who you are. Their prayers to Eileithyia, and just about every other god, were answered.

But like I said, Zosima was regrettably unattractive. She was teased and excluded and looked down upon. Fortunately, this helped her learn empathy, compassion, humility, and depth. Not that anyone really cared. All the villagers laughed at her, saying she would be a lonely old crone with no one to love her. They were proved embarrassingly wrong when a gorgeous young man named Phrixus took her for his wife. He was not shallow like the other blathering buffoons in the village; her unfailing kindness won his heart. Honestly, I didn't even have to shoot him with an arrow.

They cared for each other so greatly and sweetly that my mother, the Goddess of Love and Beauty, chose to bestow a gift on the couple. She made Zosima as beautiful on the outside as she was on the inside, which turned out to be pretty damned beautiful.

It was quite a shocking thing to wake up to. Phrixus thought a woman had sneaked into his house and crawled into bed with him, and Zosima screamed profusely while examining her bangin' new body. After everything was squared away and it was realized that Zosima had been blessed by the gods, they made lots and lots of sweet, sweet love.

A short time after Zosima became pregnant, Zeus noticed her. Even when he's not horny he has a tendency to screw things up, so obviously she was in trouble. He just wanted a little time with her (long term relationships aren't really his thing), so he came to her as a dazzlingly handsome young man while her husband was away. He visited her this way many times, but she had _no _desire to be with him. She was still very polite, though. Then Zeus realized that if Phrixus was out of the way, Zosima might be his.

The selfish bastard decided not to take a direct approach. He appeared to the king of Knossos in a dream, and encouraged him to travel to the insignificant little Cretan village. When he arrived, he saw poor Zosima, and demanded to have her. She was very pregnant when this happened, so the king did not "have" her immediately. The plan was to let her have her child, kill it, then make her part of his harem. There was only a month left until all that happened.

Phrixus could not obey his king and lose his wife to him. He traveled to Knossos to get her back.

He got all the way to her bedchamber. It was quite impressive how many guards he managed to kill. They were able to share one last loving embrace before the king stormed in with his guards. Zosima begged for her beloved's life, but that egotistical prick who ruled Knossos was a very antagonistic and possessive man. Phrixus was stabbed in the heart. Zosima was held back as they dragged his body out of her room.

All the gods had been watching all this, me included, and we very much wanted to do something about it. Interfering is expressly frowned upon, so we hesitated. Now this darling young woman was suffering... and going into labor. Soon she would lose her child as well.

We had a meeting. Zeus said she was worthy of something great, something glorious. Aphrodite already blessed her with beauty, we said, and look what that got her. No, he said, something grander. Make her a goddess, he said. She deserves it. We got very quiet. Everyone was afraid to agree. Making someone a god is a very big deal, and usually only demigods get the honor. We all reluctantly, carefully voted yes. But goddess of what, we wondered? My mother voted to make her a minor goddess of love – the Goddess of Kindness. No, Zeus said, that doesn't sound quite right. I meekly volunteered to make her my daimon, but then Nemesis appeared. Not an Olympian, but much older than us and even the Titans. So she has our respect. She said she was disgusted with the injustice done to this poor mortal girl. She gave Zeus a look, but he, being shameless, didn't flinch. The Goddess of Justice had a very unique proposition. Zosima could become an earthly goddess and administer justice where she is commanded. Zosima would be an executioner.

We all liked this very much, mainly because it would mean getting to watch her kill the awful king. So we agreed. But we all liked Zosima, so we all wanted to give her something. And we became somewhat competitive about it.

I feel I must say a few things about my mother, Aphrodite. She is seen as a fickle, whorish, shameless flirt, yes? It's not entirely her fault; The Fates spun her destiny, and decided that her main purpose would be to make love. Not a bad niche, but it gets you a certain reputation. She is told she's just as much an Olympian as the other members of the Parthenon, but it's obvious they don't think too highly of her. Especially the Virgin Goddesses, like Athena and Artemis. My mother is more than how everyone sees her, though. Love is a very powerful force. She does not deal exclusively with romantic, coitus-related love (because that is _my_ job). The love between a mother and her child, the love for one's country, the love between friends... Her dominion is larger than most think. And her personality is more complicated, also. She is smart, my mother, and she can be very patient and kind. Vain, yes, and oftentimes dangerously passionate, but we all have our flaws.

My mother wanted someone like her, someone that may be able to understand her. So she wanted to give Zosima similar powers to her own. Heavenly beauty, so potent that all men would be intoxicated by the very sight of her. The "instinct" to know how to "deal" with men. That was my mother's way of saying let her know how to wrap men around her gorgeous little finger. And the desire to have many children, because wouldn't she make a wonderful mother?

Apollo had heard Zosima's sweet singing voice, and decided it could be vastly improved. She would have a voice that could soothe the most riotous crowd. It would be the most exquisite lullaby sound the world could ever hear. And, of course, a sharp talent for music.

Athena saw all that as frilly, superfluous frivolity. She gave Zosima a very powerful mind: an infallible, unlimited memory, and a judicious sense. No good in her being all bosoms and no brain, I suppose.

Artemis gave her agility, sharp senses, colossal strength, amazing speed, beautiful upper and lower fangs that hide when needed, and magnificent retractable claws: all the better to hunt with.

Poseidon made her an excellent swimmer, and gave her the ability to hold her breath indefinitely. It doesn't sound very gracious of him, but they really are practical gifts.

Ferocity! We all turned when Ares screamed that. She should have ferocity in battle, he said. And as a killer, she should be a brilliant fighter.

Hephaistos tried very hard to put his two cents in, but everyone drowned him out. Poor thing.

For a long while, Hermes had been staring at his staff, the one with the snakes intertwined around it. He grew so excited that he yelled his idea louder than he intended. Her blood, he said, should be able to cure anything. All you would need is a single drop. And, and this got Ares' passionate approval, she should be able to turn into a gigantic snake. Applause from Ares rang out, and he added that it should be a fire-breathing snake, with scales of golden adamantine. We all liked that very much, and the gold idea prompted Hermes to say she should have gold blood.

Hera, bless her heart, was very fond of Zosima. She was the only girl who did not give in the Zeus, and she honored Hera for giving her a beautiful marriage. So, she said, give her the desire for eternal love. This seemed like a barb directed at Aphrodite, knowing how unfaithful she can be. But Hera did mean well. Hera saw Zosima's abounding faithfulness and cherished it. It should be encouraged, she said. Don't ever let her be truly comfortable with only love affairs.

A pretty sentiment indeed. Not enough foresight, though. We all knew Zosima would be made immortal, so wouldn't that mean she would have very limited choices? Only a god, then, right? Things would work out, she said. I trusted her. She has a strange way of knowing things like that sometimes.

An odd thing happened then: Thanatos, Death himself, showed up. He vowed he would never take her. Her body would be crushed, maimed, or otherwise mutilated, but she would always become whole again. It was awfully nice of him, but we were curious to know why he would do such a thing. Why extinguish such a light as her? We all agreed that was a very good reason.

They were all tying things up, and I realized I hadn't offered anything. I piped up, saying I think she be made absolutely phenomenal in bed. They laughed, but they also approved. My mother was pleased with my idea. She said that perhaps any man blessed enough to be chosen as a mate (even if only a playmate) should radiate it. Infernals (evil monsters) would hesitate to attack, lest they wish to evoke the wrath of the great being we were creating.

Eileithyia stepped forth and mentioned the matter of Zosima's children. What would become of them? Mere mortals destined to die, dropping like flies around the aeonian jewel we were so busy making? How sad that would be. A unique creature such as this would need company; but they must acquire a sense of humanity first. It would be terrible for them to become like the Infernals.

So her children would grow as mortals, then at any time during puberty, they would Turn, blossom into something new and good and ferocious and powerful, but still have the ability to appear human. It would begin with her firstborn.

And so we returned our attention to this injured dove, writhing in pain and grief. How terrible it was. She was put in a deep sleep, and Morpheus was sent to tell her what she needed to know about what she would become, with a new detail: her blood would be the _only_ thing that could kill her children, once they've become powerful. I feel I must also let you know that certain other minor details became part of what she is and part of what her children are, but they will come to light when necessary.

Back to Zosima. She woke, and had her darling son. She held him close; so protective, so afraid. She named him Chrusanthos, meaning "golden flower". A lovely name, really.

Guards came for her baby, along with that terrible king. It was when they came that she fully realized there was something different about her: she felt strong, radiant. She almost seemed to glow. And when the king entered, she flinched. Her pupils became large slits, like a cat's. Nice touch, I thought. She very delicately put her son down, and instinct took over. Not the "instinct" my mother gave her; it was a very primal, animalistic one. She became a great, golden, 500-foot-long fire-breathing snake. Most definitely overkill, but it was her first time as whatever she was, and shouldn't that be special?

They didn't stand a chance. Zosima destroyed the entire army in less than two minutes. Afterward, she fled with her son to a cave deep in the mountains. Zeus came to her, taking credit for the incredible power bestowed upon her, and tried to woo her again. It still didn't work. Zosima refused to disrespect Hera by having an affair with her husband. Outraged, Zeus cursed her. He could not revoke her god-given abilities, but he could darken them. Not only would she kill evil-doers, but she would devour them, as would her descendants. He had, in his own way, made her into a monster.

When Chrusanthos became a young man, he Turned, and the first Nymph came into being.

As the years went on, Zosima fell for many strapping young men, mostly heroes. She had a son with just about every hero in Greek "myth": Adonis,Theseus, Perseus, Jason... you get the picture. Her only daughter was sired by Herakles. All these children became powerful, and they mated with mortals and had children whom became the kinds of monsters their parents are, and those children had mortal children who passed on the gene that in a few dozen generations would emerge again. Take your time figuring that last sentence out.

The thirteen Alphas of the Twelve Races of Immortals are these (in no particular order): Chrusanthos the Nymph, Deimos the Gorgon, Philippos the Pegasus, Anaxagoras the Vampire, Kalais the Shapeshifter, Lukos the Werewolf, Ra-Kheperu-Ari-Mat the Phoenix, Ammon the Shroud, Adrastos the Minotaur, Theron the Gryphon, Phaidros the Sphinx, Dardanos the Manticore, and Helle, whom I suppose can just be called a mind-reader. Helle can read the entire contents of a person's mind, which freaked the hell out of the gods, so they made her barren. She is the only Alpha without a race.

As it was realized that stories were being told about the Immortals, it was thought prudent to alter the stories a bit. It was quite easy, like playing a game of telephone. They saw it best to maintain anonymity, because if people knew all their secrets, they would surely be exploited. This explains why you have never heard of Zosima or the Immortals. You have heard of sirens, though, and "Siren" somehow became the thing they called Zosima. The word means "to bind", which I think works quite nicely for her.

Oh and by the way, Zosima and Helen of Troy are one in the same.

So anyway, I need to get off all these rabbit trails. Zosima fell in love with a wonderful young man and gave birth to his son, whom she named Dardanos. Then one day, the man revealed who he truly was: Erebos, the Primordial God of Darkness. She was devastated, because Erebos is evil. How could he have hidden his black heart from her?

There was a trade. I don't know with whom, because they still treat me like a child on Olympus and never tell me anything. But Erebos handed over his godliness, and he was given the ability to hide his awful soul. Helle couldn't even read his mind and find anything damning. When he chose to be a god again, he would lose his disguise. Why go to such lengths? Well, Zosima is really hot, but he also saw it as a power play. You see, while she is the mother of the Immortals, he is the father of the Infernals. Very angel/demon stuff. Their children attack one another all the time – Immortals think Infernals are _delicious _– and the Immortals usually always win. So Erebos thought that perhaps if he had a child with her, it would be immensely powerful. Since he was mortal when Dardanos was conceived, he hadn't been able to test his theory. But if he were a god... well, thankfully he never got to find out.

Zosima was super pissed when he told her the truth. All her love for him was gone in an instant. Enraged, Erebos ripped her heart out and took it with him. No one can have your heart but me, he said. Zosima's children found her still body, dormant but not dead. They screamed at us, begging us to make her whole again. We almost did – we got as far as getting the heart back from Erebos – but Hera stopped us.

She'll continue to grow weary, she said, and she would not last very long, not after something like this. We asked what that meant. Watching all her mortal lovers die, knowing there is no god both single and faithful, and being deceived so cruelly – it will crush her spirit. Erebos would be able to seduce her if she was so defeated. Very logical conclusion, yes, but does that mean we don't fix her? Of course we fix her, she said, but not yet. She looked to her husband. Zeus huffed and said the eternal love thing was her fault, and he didn't see why he had to do anything about it. Hera scowled. Then she argued that Zosima deserves a partner. We agreed about this quite loudly, and I think Apollo was hoping to be allowed to have her. He had wanted her for a very long time now, but he didn't want to cross Zeus.

Apollo wasn't allowed, though. Hera asked him for a favor. We need a prophecy, she said. When Apollo gets a prophecy, he's mainly just asking the Fates for the future in riddle form. That's what he did, too, because while he couldn't have Zosima, he still wanted her to be happy.

_An eon will pass before the birth of a fair _

_hero, born not on land nor in the sea._

_He will deliver life to the Siren _

_and possess her heart._

_Take heed, for_

_Darkness threatens to _

_corrupt the righteous serpent. _

_These deities must not unite, or war _

_will rage among the Agents of Nemesis,_

_and the mortals will be trampled underfoot._

Vague, yet straight to the point. Unsettling to know that Erebos has a chance to win her back if she's emotionally crippled enough. The "deliver life" and "possess her heart" bits seem to have a double meaning. The "fair hero" being "born not on land nor in the sea" was what baffled us most. So will he be born in the air on the back of a bird? It was possible the hero was a minor god, and Aphrodite suggested it may be a demigod. Zeus didn't like the idea of a demigod getting what he himself wanted so badly, and that's why the Immortals were later told they must stay separate from them, and were never again asked to protect our half-mortal offspring. I didn't see how that accomplished anything, but it's not really my place to argue with him.

The Alphas were told the prophecy. They had a particularly sour reaction to the "eon" bit, and we patiently reminded them that they were immortal, and did they want a civil war? No, we didn't think so. Chrusanthos, her oldest, made her a marble coffin with intricate carvings, and they dug her a tomb in a hillside deep in a holly oak woodland in Crete. Before being buried, they adorned her with gold necklaces, bracelets, rings, armlets, earrings... pretty much anywhere they could put jewelry, they did. Each of the gods gave her a small gift – a charm to tie in her hair. They were each a symbol of ours, like a little golden hammer for Hephaistos and a peacock feather for Hera. She ended up with a lot of feathers in her hair. Even Hades gave her a small piece of Stygian metal. We hated to see her go, especially since none of us was exactly sure how long the eon would be.

It was 2006, about three thousand years later, when Apollo picked up the golden jar.

We all chastised him at first, because _none_ of us touched the golden jar. It had the Siren's heart in it! It was safe enough on Olympus, but still, it was the principle of the thing.

He shook his head, saying it was time. We grew quiet. Apollo has a closeness to the Fates that the rest of us don't, and they occasionally told him things, sometimes not even in riddle form. If he said it was _time, _then he must've meant it.

The Fates were more straightforward for once. They told him we must give the Siren's heart to Phaidros, the Alpha Sphinx. We thought it odd, except for Athena, who had taken a shine to him. Sphinxes have the curious habit of asking their prey a riddle before suffocating and eating them, and saying they will be freed if they answer correctly (they're never freed because Sphinxes are just too clever, but that's beside the point).

I'd like to take a moment and explain to you what a _real_ Sphinx looks like. It's not a winged lion with the head of a person. Wouldn't that be creepy? They actually look like lions with ram's horns, serpent's tails, and eagle wings. They're faces are what's _really_ scary, though. Feline-ish, yes, but the short fur is ashen-gray, and the skin looks like it's stretched over the bone and muscle. The cheeks are gaunt, and the mouth tends to gape, showing the long fangs inside. Their voices are low and gravelly. And their eyes... quite disturbing. Just black empty spaces. You can't possibly stare into them for more than a few seconds.

Anyway, Phaidros is not the oldest or the most special, so why entrust him with it? Just because, Apollo said. We gave him a collective shrug, because sure, why not?

And, at last, we have come full circle. Bravo to you for sticking with me this long.

The Alpha Sphinx was told he would give the golden jar to the Chosen One. That's the only time I'll refer to the jar-receiver this way, because I think it's a bit silly-sounding and cliché. But anyway, this man whom is destined to be with Zosima forever was to get the jar. Or is the man who gets the jar destined to be with Zosima forever? The point is, Phaidros would know whom to give it to. Would Phaidros know because the man could answer his riddle? Of course not, we're not cruel enough to subject him to your impossible riddles, we said. The man would be in accordance with the prophecy, of course. He'd be "a fair hero, born not on the land nor in the sea", whatever that meant. And Apollo said that the Fates would guide the One to him that very day. No need for him to get worked up; he'd know where he should be and he'd know the guy when he saw him. And one last thing, he said, don't tell the Alphas until after the One has been found.

Phaidros was not entirely sure why he was in Lakkoi. It was a little village nestled in the foothills of the White Mountains in western Crete. A lovely place, sure, but he felt idle and lost. He had been given little direction, and he didn't like just sitting around and waiting.

While the place itself had little importance, at least he could be grateful for its location. It was not too far from the National Park of Samariá, which is where Mother was buried. Sounds almost too convenient, but the Alphas had clandestinely gained power and influence over the millenia, and when they saw the wildlands shrinking around their mother's tomb, they had the area protected by making it a national park and biosphere reserve. They couldn't risk people building a strip mall or something on top of the Tomb, even though it was well guarded.

Anyway, he felt compelled to be in this village, so there had to be a reason. Perhaps the young man he was looking for lived here. He couldn't very well go knocking on doors, so he sat in the marketplace, holding the little jar in his lap. I'll admit it must've have looked rather strange to the villagers: a handsome, young (-looking) man sitting with his back against the wall of a small white building, holding a jar protectively. He'd stare hard at young men, wondering how he'd know who the right one is. Occasionally children would ask him why he was holding that old clay jar. The first time, he looked down at it: the jar was gold and covered in beautiful designs. When he looked back at the child, he said this, and the child just gave him a strange expression and ran away. Soon people in the marketplace started whispering about the poor crazy man who thought his small clay jar was made of gold.

If you don't mind, I'm going to start using dialogue. I think it'll work better for this part of the story.

Phaidros had been in Lakkoi for four hours, and all he had gained were a few strange looks from the locals and dirt on his jeans. Being several thousand years old, he knew how to be patient, but discouragement still began to set in. He battled that with the thought that sure, nothing had happened yet, but it was only almost ten.

He continued to people-watch in the busying marketplace. The vendors sold their wares and eyed him curiously. The children played and were occasionally scolded by their mothers. An American couple and their son walked around, observing the food and trinkets for sale.

These Americans stood out a bit. Casually dressed, yes, but not swarthy like the Mediterraneans surrounding them. It was also strange to see them because it was October 16th, which was very late in the tourist season, and not a lot of tourists would come to Lakkoi to begin with.

They were getting closer now, and the son was wandering farther and farther away from his parents. That didn't seem to be dangerous, though; the boy looked to be about eleven- or twelve- or thirteen-years-old. He was really adorable, actually: Green-blue eyes, a couple of freckles, short honey-blonde hair peaking out from under his blue bucket hat, and, my word, what a cute smile. When Phaidros had looked away from the boy and then back again, he noticed he was staring at the jar. What, do American boys never see clay jars?

Eventually, the boy made his way to Phaidros, his eyes rarely leaving the jar. When he finally approached, he said, "Is that made of real gold?"

Phaidros' eyebrows went _way _up. "I'm sorry?"

"That jar you're holding. Is it real gold?"

He looked down at the jar, then at the kid. "Yes."

The boy smiled. "It's beautiful! Where'd you get it?"

"Good friends of mine." Phaidros just couldn't get that stunned look off his face.

Intrigued, the boy sat down next to him, not caring about the dirt he was getting on his khaki cargo pants. "So what's it for?"

"Nothing special," which was a complete lie.

The boy made a half-frown. "It's just for decoration, then?"

"Mostly."

"What do you use it for when you're not using it for decoration?"

"For carrying hearts in," He made sure to sound facetious when he said it. "How about I ask _you_ a few questions?" Don't worry, no riddles were involved.

"Ok," the kid nodded.

"What brings you to Lakkoi?"

"My parents and I are going to camp in the Samaria Gorge until Thursday. I don't think people are usually allowed to camp there, especially now since it's closed to tourists, but my parents know people who run the National Park."

"How do your parents know those people?" he immediately thought about his fellow Alphas, but knew the boy must be referring to mortal employees.

"My parents are anthropologists. They know scientists and historians and archeologists and people like that, and I think they met the National Park people through one of them. We're mostly going there because there's a dig in Kaino they'll be participating in."

"Anthropologists? That sounds interesting."

"Yeah, we get to travel around a lot because of it."

"Travel where?"

"Well, _everywhere_, really. Europe, Asia, Africa, Australia, South America, a bunch of different islands..."

Phaidros stared at the smiling boy. Could he be...? Nah. But it wouldn't hurt to ask. Might as well waste time until the one from the prophecy comes along.

"So, where were you born, then?"

He scratched a spot on his forehead covered by the band of his bucket hat. "Well, I'm not exactly sure."

The Alpha Sphinx looked at him curiously. "What does that mean?"

"I was born on a plane that was flying over the Bermuda Triangle."

_Born not on land nor in the sea... holy crap._ I couldn't read Phaidros' mind, but I could tell he was definitely thinking that by the look on his face.

"Yeah?" he tries to keep calm.

"Yeah. It was during a hurricane, too."

"Wow."

His parents finally saw their son sitting next to Phaidros, and came over to say hello.

"Hi," the mother said nicely, but it was clear that she and her husband heard the vendors talk about the crazy man with the jar. "He's not bothering you, is he?"

"No." Phaidros replied. Nope, not bothering him at all. Just fulfilling an ancient prophecy.

"Oh, good," the father said with a smile, "I'm sorry, but we're in a big hurry. We'll be late meeting our friends if we don't leave now."

Just before the kid rose to leave with them, he asked the Alpha Sphinx his name.

"Phaidros. What's yours?"

"Henry Griffin," he replied as he extended his hand. "It was nice to meet you."

Phaidros shook his hand, trying not to laugh at the delightful coincidence of his last name being "Griffin". He was so dazed that the family had managed to walk a few yards before he realized something.

"I want you to have this." he held the jar out to Henry, who gawked in disbelief.

"Really? But why – "

Phaidros shook his head. "Just trust me, kid. It's got your name written all over it."

Mr. and Mrs. Griffin looked nervous. "Henry," his mom said, "Thank the nice man for the clay jar."

"And hurry," the father added. His wife gave him a disapproving look.

"Clay...?" Henry muttered under his breath, but then he shook his head. "Well, thanks, Phaidros! Maybe I'll see you soon."

They hurried on their way. Once they were out of sight, Phaidros whipped out his cell phone.

"Hey, Chrusi... No, I don't care if you don't like that nickname... Fido? Sure, call me whatever. Although I still think that would suit Lukos better... Listen, it's time. I need you to gather the Alphas... It's _time_, as in get your pansy-ass to Crete and make sure our siblings are with you... Can I take your stunned silence as a yes? Hello?... I know because Apollo told me. He also told me to find the guy from the prophecy... What are you getting angry at _me_ for? I was told not to tell you until after I delivered the heart... Well, to the guy of course. He's younger than I expected... Calm down, Chrusi! Mom's heart is safe in the jar... No, it_ will_ be safe with the kid... Yes, I just called him a kid. He's about twelve years old... Jeez, Chrusi, again with the yelling! I just did what I was supposed to!... It's ok, I don't blame you for freaking out, but trust that this kid really is who we've been waiting for, although now we'll also have to wait for him to grow up a bit... Ok, thanks, Bro. Bye."

I wasn't able to actually listen to the Alpha meeting, because the Alpha Shroud hid them. Not even the _gods_ can hear or see when a Shroud hides himself and/or others. So later on I asked them really nicely to tell me what happened. They complied, because they consider me a kind of uncle, since I view Zosima as an adoptive sister.

All thirteen Alphas were in the National Park of Samariá by sunset. Sounds strange, I know, but since they can all run (or fly) fast enough to break the sound barrier, it wasn't that difficult.

They sat in a circle beneath a cluster of centuries-old trees, miles from the walking trail. The rushing waters of the river Tarraios could be heard just to the East of them.

"You're absolutely sure?"

Phaidros sighed. "Yes, Deimos."

"Really? Because you just told us you literally gave our mother's heart to a child we don't even know." said Ammon.

"An _American_ child, no less." Added Philippos, "Why on earth would the One be American? They're not entirely hopeless, but... well, we know how they are."

"Right," agreed Adrastos, "And Mother has really only ever liked Greek men, anyway." he looked when the Alpha Phoenix cleared his throat. "Your father being an exception, of course. Sorry, Ra."

Ra-Kheperu-Ari-Mat smiled at his brother, then looked to the rest of his siblings. "I don't see a problem with him being an American. Didn't Phaidros say he's traveled all over the world? I doubt the boy has even been in the States enough for it to affect him."

"Agreed," said Helle. When she said it, she was speaking for the rest of them, too. In meetings, she usually does all the talking, because she can read her brothers' minds. This time she only spoke when she thought it necessary. "Now that we approve of the boy – as if that matters – what are we to do?"

After a short silence, Chrusanthos spoke. "Make arrangements, I suppose. We know this all means Mother will be awakened, but not right now."

"Are we to assume that since Phaidros allowed the boy to 'possess her heart', he can be trusted to 'deliver life to the Siren'?" Asked Theron.

"I would think so," said Lukos, "This must be a time when we need to take a hands-off approach to the prophecy. Let the kid find his way. We'll know what to do when it's our time to act."

"Yes, absolutely." Helle took the reins again. "Mother will rise. No need to worry about that right now. The child is a bigger problem."  
>Anaxagoras raised an eyebrow. "How so? He's been found. Now all we do is wait a few years. We'll need that time to assimilate Mother, anyway. She's three thousand years behind the times. It'll take her some getting used to."<p>

"Too true, dear brother, but need I remind you that we weren't given a guarantee. Zeus warned us this 'fair hero' will be our only chance, and failure is a possibility. This little sprout could die before Mother can give him her blood and make him Immortal. Though I fear Zeus may not make this very easy; a mere _mortal_ is to win the Siren's heart. It's an insult he won't take graciously." answered Helle.

They all nodded.

"So then the child will have a guardian?" asked Dardanos.

Kalais chuckled. "He doesn't need one of those! We can protect him. All in favor of kidnapping, raise your hand."

"KEEP YOUR HANDS DOWN." Helle shook her head in disappointment. "As much as I like that approach myself, it would be too great a risk. It's far to drastic. We must let the Fates spin his destiny. To take him in, or guide him too much, would be a threat to the prophecy. We must not control his life."

Lukos frowned. "So no guardian, then?"

Helle's brow furrowed in concentration. "The boy will need one. Or perhaps several. We can choose Immortals worthy of such responsibility to watch over him in secret. They may only interfere when his life is threatened. Because he travels so regularly, he can get a new... Watcher, I suppose... every time he moves. We can plan it out more thoroughly once we know him better. But if he really is a 'hero', then he may be a handful."

"If he's anything like Theseus, he'll need at least two Watchers per location." said Deimos with an unexpected amount of seriousness. His siblings laughed anyway. As if the boy could _possibly_ be as bad as Theseus.

"And so it's decided that we will aim to keep Henry Griffin alive, and Mother will not know of his destiny until the time is right?"

Helle allowed her brothers to voice their agreement out loud instead of just thinking it.

The Samariá Gorge was a beautiful, wild place left uncorrupted by the modern world. Kri-kris pranced about, birds sang, bugs crawled, the trees grew tall – it was the kind of place Henry felt at home in. Or it would be, if Henry would pay any attention to his surroundings. He was too busy studying that damn little jar.

His parents weren't sure why he was so enthralled – it was just an unremarkable, poorly made clay jar. Rusty-red and as tall as a jelly jar but twice as wide, a potter probably took two minutes to make it, and another ten seconds to tie a piece of twine with a clay bead just below the lid. But they couldn't complain. Their son's fascination had kept him from attempting to crawl over the wooden railing and wander off of the path, which would've gotten them in very deep trouble.

"Sweetie," said his mother, Rosemary, "Isn't this great?"

"Mm." Henry answered distractedly. He carefully turned the jar this way and that, occasionally trying to gently remove the lid. The jar refused to open.

"Zafer, honestly," she whispered to her husband, "He's been looking at that thing for the past three hours. What did that crazy young man tell him?"

Zafer sighed. "I don't know, but right now I'm happy for it. If it wasn't for that jar, he would have hopped the railing and gotten lost in the forest by now."

Mrs. Griffin nodded in admittance and looked back at her son. He was no longer holding the jar. "Oh, did you get tired of looking at it?"

Henry blinked. "Of course not. The terrain is getting more uneven up here, and I was afraid I would drop it and break it."

Another two hours later, the Griffins arrived at the abandoned village of Samariá. Usually there were a few park employees living in some of the abandoned houses, but now the whole village was empty. Their guide, whom I deem too insignificant to mention by name, offered them the ruined buildings to sleep in, and they camped out in the dilapidated house across from the Samariá surgery building. Once Henry helped his parents with their stuff, he took out that blasted jar and sat with it under an olive tree. It confused his parents, but they were grateful he was staying out of trouble.

Henry could tell he was holding something very special. It was dazzling: the gold was smooth and strong, and detailed carvings of monsters covered every inch of it. A gold chain with a pendant was wrapped around the neck of the jar: the chain was made of little infinity signs linked together, and the pendant was a golden snake spiraled tightly around a grape-sized, dark blue sapphire.

What most intrigued him was the fact that the jar was sealed tightly shut, and it made him wonder if Phaidros really had been joking about carrying hearts in it. I couldn't read Henry's mind either, if that's what you're wondering; he thought this out loud. The boy has a strange habit of talking to himself.

After the sun disappeared behind the mountains, a fire was built, and the Griffins and their guide gathered around it. Henry's parents looked relieved to see that their son had put the jar away for the time being.

"Do you folks know why people are not allowed to stray from the path in this park?" The guide asked with a mild Greek accent.

"So people don't disturb the wildlife too much?" offered Henry.

The guide smiled. "That is one reason, and it's what we tell the tourists, but there is another. The path is not only for the safety of the habitat, but for the safety of the visitors as well."

"I'm sure people could easily get lost or injured in here." said Zafer.

"Oh, that's not all Mr. Griffin," he leaned forward a bit, the glow from the fire illuminating his face. "There are monsters in the forest."

The guide now definitely had Henry's full attention. "Where?" he asked.

"All over, probably. Some people say they've seen Nymphs. Peeking out from behind a tree, swimming in the river Tarraios... one person swore they saw Pegasus grazing in a meadow. But they're not dangerous, not like the beast of _D__á__sos t__ō__n Ter__átōn."_

Rosemary was smiling, taking interest in the story she thought was only a legend. "The beast of what?"

"Forest of Monsters," the guide replied. "Not very original, I know, but it has a certain ring to it. It's a holly oak forest a few miles West of this village. The people of Samariá, when they still lived here, were very respectful of it and stayed out. Those who dared enter risked being attacked by the beast, but no one had ever been in it long enough to see it. They all suffered panic before they could encounter it."

"As in Pan got to them?" Zafer asked.

The guide nodded. "People would come screaming out of the forest. It would take days for them to recover."

"But no one ever found the beast?" inquired Henry.

"Nope. But sometimes you can hear roars and howls coming from the woods."

Henry probably wanted to ask more questions, but his parents told him it was time for bed. Mr. and Mrs. Griffin stayed up, of course, talking to the guide and thanking him for the story.

His sleeping bag swished as he crawled into it. Once it was zipped up, he leaned over to his backpack and pulled the jar out. He studied it for a few minutes in the very dim light of the sliver moon, then wrapped his arms around it. Kind of odd, I mean it's a gold jar (or clay jar, depending), not a teddy bear. I suppose he was feeling rather protective of it. He lay there wide awake, listening to the muffled voices of his parents or the rustling of the tree by the window.

Then he heard the beast.

It was quiet, very distant, but most definitely a roar. He could almost feel it, like a rumble of thunder. His parents and the guide were loud – laughing about something – and they didn't seem to have heard it. But Henry did. He had heard all kinds of roars in his short life, but none quite like this. It was so ferocious it made an African lion sound like a house cat. No way was that a regular animal. He just _had_ to know what it was.

And so, that idiotic little boy sneaked out of the crumbling house, past his parents, over the railing and into the woods. Seriously, how has he lived this long? Those Watchers really _will_ be necessary.

The boy obviously didn't have a clue what he was doing. He had taken off into the woods at night in search of a legendary monster. After walking almost four miles, he found the forest, although I doubt he really knew he did. The beam from his flashlight showed the massive trunks of the holly oaks around him. Judging by their width, Henry thought those trees must've been around since the beginning of the world. That's what he said out loud to himself, anyway.

He continued on his way through the Forest of Monsters, which so far wasn't being very monstrous, and –

"Hello,"

Henry spun around and aimed his flashlight at the speaker. It appeared to be a short, rotund man in a brown tweed suit.

"What are you doing here?" asked the tweed-suited man.

"I could ask you the same question." The boy's face was scrunched with absolute bewilderment. This was a very strange thing to find in a forest. The man was wearing a _bowler hat_, for goodness' sake.

Mr. Tweed-Suit gave him a wide smile. "You know," he began to stroke his goatee, "This is a very dangerous area. No place for a boy. In fact, I'm _quite_ certain it's forbidden to step outside the path."

"I won't hurt anything."

"Oh, I'm _sure_, but there's no guarantee that anything won't hurt _you_."

Henry took a small, careful step back. The man in tweed pretended not to notice.

"Now, please tell me, dear boy, what _exactly_ do you think you're doing out here?"

At that moment, a loud roar shook the forest. Henry grew excited.

"I'm looking for that!"

"_That?_"

"Yes, the monster in the woods!" he tried to rush off in the direction of the noise, but Mr. Tweed-Suit caught his arm.

"Let me get this _straight_," the tweed-suit man said as he adjusted his bowler hat, "You, a _child_, have come into these wild, treacherous, ancient woods by yourself late at night with only a flashlight and a backpack in hopes of finding a monster that sounds like it eats bears for breakfast?"

After a second, Henry nodded. "Sounds about right. Can I go now? I promise to be careful."

"Careful?" Tweed-Suit said with a bleat-like giggle, "Oh, I don't doubt that in the _least_. You clearly have a firm understanding of the word." His giggles gave way to a fit of laughter. "Go! Find your monster!"

Henry quickly left the apparently insane man and soon the sound of laughter was distant and just barely audible.

He continued to trek through the woods. Over fallen trees, around giant trunks, and then down a sharp incline. Well, he didn't really _trek_ down the incline; it was more of a fall.

He went from being airborne to smashed into the leaf-covered ground and back again. It was quite funny to watch, what with all the _oof!_-ing and graceless somersaulting.

As he approached the bottom, he smacked into a tree; possibly the oldest, largest tree in the entire park. That part wasn't particularly comfortable either, but at least he had stopped rolling. Boy, was he a mess: smudged with dirt, leafy bits stuck in his hair (who _knows_ where his hat was), little rips in his clothing, and small, shallow cuts on his arms and face. And he would surely have some nasty bruises in the morning

The first thing he did was check for injuries. When he found that it was very painful to put pressure on his right ankle, he sighed. Perhaps he realized he was a reckless idiot, but from what I know of his life after this little adventure, I sincerely doubt it.

He then checked his backpack. The golden jar was undamaged, and that seemed to cheer him up a bit. There was nothing in his backpack he could use to help him get up the steep hill, and it would be dangerous for him to try to get to the bottom. He was more or less stuck next to the trunk of the tree.

The roar rang out again, louder than ever before. It sounded so close that Henry may have been able to see the monster if he looked around enough. But he isn't _completely_ devoid of common sense: he knew he was unable to run, he had no weapon, and, according to the tweed guy, this beast probably ate bears. So instead of exposing himself by looking around, he hugged his backpack and stayed very still.

There was another roar. My word, the thing must've been right at the foot of the hill. By some miracle, the boy was actually a little frightened now. He hid his head, probably wondering if the beast would eat him quickly.

Leaves rustled somewhere below him. The sound came closer and closer, then whatever it was was a few feet away, then right next to the tree, then –

"_Eíste traumatíes_?"

Henry screamed and reflexively swung his fist. It was caught by a man with a very serious look on his face.

"_Iremíso ! Den tha sas vlápsei_."

The boy looked at the serious man questioningly. "What?"

"Ah. An American. I said, 'Are you injured?' then, 'Calm down! I won't hurt you.'" he then shone his flashlight on Henry's arms. "That was quite a fall you took."

"Yeah."

"Do you need help getting down?"

He nodded. "I think I sprained my ankle."

"That's not good. The medical staff isn't in Samariá right now." he ran his fingers through his dark hair. "Well, I suppose I'll just carry you back to where you came from. You are a child of one of the archeologists?"

"Zafer and Rosemary Griffin. We're staying at the Samariá village tonight."

"Then that is where I will take you. I'm sure there are still medical supplies in the building." his brows furrowed. "What are you doing out here?"

"Looking for a monster."

"Ha! You believe that silly legend?"

Henry frowned indignantly. "I heard it roar! It was terrifying and loud and really close – "

"Your imagination was playing tricks on you. You probably just heard a kri-kri burp or something."

"It was _not_ – "

"That's enough. I'm sick of standing on this hill and I don't feel like listening to your stories. Now climb on my back so I can take you to your parents and watch as they scold you."

This all makes Peter seem very unpleasant, but you have to understand that this was his way of hiding the fact that he was inwardly freaking the hell out. During the whole long, awkward walk back to Samariá with this spunky pipsqueak on his back, all he could think about was the fact that he probably just witnessed the fulfilling of the ancient prophecy. No one had _ever_ made it more than a few yards into the Forest of Monsters. Pan had seen to that quite faithfully. And for this boy to have made it so far and then stumbled upon the entrance to the Tomb of the Most Ancient One... Well it had to mean something.

They made it back to the village, where the very worried Griffins waited. Peter introduced himself as a park employee, and no one questioned it; they were all too focused on telling Henry how unbelievably careless he was. This continued to work in Peter's favor as he stole (or just took, however you wish to view it) the golden jar from Henry's backpack. During their walk back, Henry had told him about the golden jar he received from a guy in Lakkoi. Perhaps not a bright move on Henry's part, but he probably thought there was no harm in it, considering Peter said he thought he was a ridiculous child an overactive imagination. Peter, however, believed every word.

And so Peter disappeared into the night before the guide and the Griffins could question him. Taking the jar was a somewhat rash thing to do, but he thought it was better than letting it sit around in a twelve-year-old's backpack. And he didn't completely rob him: he left the pendant and chain behind.

After running a few miles deep into the middle of nowhere, Peter took out his satellite phone.

"Sir, it's happened. I found a boy right next to the Immortal Tree, and he had the Siren's Heart."

Luckily, Peter had done the right thing by taking it. The Alphas gathered at the Tomb, and the call went out to all the Immortals. Well, not call; most of them found out through a text.

Now remember, there's about twelve thousand of them, and they don't all live nearby, either. The Immortals came from all over the world, even from Antarctica, and within two days everyone had shown up at the given coordinates.

The Forest of Monsters really lived up to its name that day. The area near the Tomb entrance was packed, and many sat in trees to give room for people on the ground. The gods would've liked to make an appearance, but we decided it was best to only watch. Zosima would have enough people to meet as it was.

Then the time came for Chrusanthos to wave his hand, and the tree parted, morphing into a doorway. He went in by himself, because the Tomb can't fit very many people, and took the heart and a white dress with him. The entire _park _grew silent, as if even the plants and animals knew something important was happening. I distinctly remember seeing Henry, confined to his bed and seriously grounded, wondering why the birds had suddenly stopped singing.

Chrusanthos came through the tree-door, leading Zosima behind him. When he finally stepped aside to present her …

I think a few people cried. Hell, I think _I _even cried. She was still wearing all the jewelry and hair ornaments she had been buried in, and her new white dress was simple yet tastefully showed off her voluptuous figure. Her hip-length hair, an indecisive shade of strawberry-blonde, caught the sunlight and gently billowed in the breeze. Everyone stared in wonder at her ivory skin that seemed to glow like a flawless pearl. Her full, raspberry lips parted in amazement when she realized just how many Immortals there were in the world now. And her eyes … by the gods, her dazzling sapphire eyes were such a staggering shade of midnight-blue and so deep that it seemed there was room in them for the whole universe.

Then the Immortals, all twelve thousand of them, unleashed a victorious, lion-ish roar. Their matriarch was home, and they felt whole again.

The incredibly deafening sound of twelve thousand Immortals cheering had been attributed to a rock slide in the area, though no further evidence could be found to support that explanation.

Henry remained grounded for the remainder of his time in Crete – and he also remained astoundingly, adorably ignorant of the true nature of his Cretan adventure, and even more so of his destiny.

By the way, do you know what song came out just four months before Zosima's awakening? Justin Timberlake's "SexyBack". I see it as proof that the Fates have a sense of humor.


	2. Pilot: Part 1

**Pertaining to the Prologue: Sorry, I should've said this in the previous chapter, but I feel obligated to point out that the Greek (in the dialogue) may be incorrect. I got the translations from Google Translate and I don't know how accurate it is.**

**I don't own Unnatural History, but I do own the narrator and all his little monster buddies.**

**I'm not changing or replacing the episodes, only adding to them. This is all the stuff that "happened" during or in between the episodes.**

**So yeah, this isn't your typical fanfiction. You might want to brace yourself.**

* * *

><p>Crowded places are insanely frustrating when you have to be invisible. You have to remember that everyone else has the right of way, and you have to be really careful not to run into anybody. One time I bumped into this old lady and she looked so startled and bewildered that I was afraid she'd have a heart attack. The face she made was funny as hell though, and I laughed. Boy, was I thankful she couldn't hear me.<p>

I'm a Shroud. When I make myself invisible, no one can see me, hear me, smell me, or even feel my presence. They could _kind of_ feel me, I guess, but it's like pressure, like an unseen force field. I can also make other things disappear like me, the most important being my clothes. Walking around as a shirt and a pair of pants would totally freak people out. There are probably a billion and one spectacular things to do with my power, but I know I wouldn't be allowed to do most of them. There are rules. As much as I would love to stun people with my ability to make a blue whale disappear (top that, David Copperfield!), I can't use my power to get famous. Pick-pocketing is easy too, but stealing isn't generally allowed either. Playing "Haunt the House" sounds like fun, but I'd get in serious trouble for terrorizing innocent people (unless it's Halloween: that's when I get to scare the crap out of as many people as I want). Murder is only okay when it's a Marked One, which is a depraved, remorseless person marked by Nemesis for execution. And they aren't just killed: they're eaten. That's right: if you make the naughty list, you better watch out, 'cause there are monsters out there like me who are craving some Manwich meat.

Speaking of Manwich meat, that's another thing about crowded places like the one I'm in now. This airport would be a great place to hunt down some wretches, but I'm here on a mission.

The Alphas asked _me_ to be the next Primary Watcher. Out of the thousand-ish Shrouds,_ I_ get to be the Primary Watcher in Washington, D.C! I'm not thrilled I have to be in this city again, what with all the bad memories, but hey, I do what the Alphas tell me to. You have to be experienced to be considered as a Watcher, which I am. Age equals experience when it comes to Immortals, and I was kickin' it when Christopher Columbus was trying to find a better route to the Indies. You have to be trustworthy too, and I'm not like one of those weak, selfish rebels who have defected over to the dark side. I'm perfect for this job.

I've been leaning against this wall for an hour waiting for my assignment to arrive. Why did I get here so early? Dozens of people mill around the terminal, but none of them him. His stupid plane hasn't arrived yet.

The Alphas had shown me his picture so I know who to look for. With my impeccable photographic memory it's like I'm still holding the photo in my hand. He is a fairly attractive sixteen-year-old Caucasian male with honey-blonde hair and blue-green eyes. He'd be alone, out of place, and completely unaware of his importance to us.

His previous Primary Watcher in Bhutan had contacted me to tell me what to expect. Apparently this kid's a handful. The Watcher said it in much harsher words, though. "He's a nightmare!" Ankur ranted in Hindi, "It's like he thinks he's immortal! Always jumping off of things and fighting things and making dangerous people angry… Even with the Secondary Watcher's help, it's a chore just to keep him alive!" I gotta admit that it sounded like stuff an Immortal would do. I'm an Immortal and those are my three favorite past times. It's not like any of it can kill me. Immortals never got in trouble for behavior like that, but mortals are another story. We find it both incredible and annoying when they seem to lack self-preservation. He also told me the horror stories the other Watchers told him, and now I'm actually a little worried if I can do this.

Ankur didn't have only bad things to say about him, of course. He said the kid was downright lovable. The boy was caring, brave, sensitive, innocent, talented, wise, funny… and if I let anything happen to him, Ankur would dismember me and bury the pieces so far apart it would take decades for them to find each other and reassemble. Ankur may have sounded relieved that his time as Glorified Babysitter was over, but he had clearly gotten attached to the kid. I guess that meant this boy was something wonderful, but then again Nymphs were known to be emotional and sentimental.

I'm tired of hearing all the hustle-bustle around me, so I get out my iPod. Technically it isn't mine: I whacked a black widow ten days ago and I found it on her person. There's no rule against stealing from Marked Ones. For a homicidal gold-digger, she had pretty good taste in music. I had expected a Gucci-wearing hoochie like her to have a bunch of shallow girly music, but there's mostly alternative rock and some Top 40 stuff that's not half bad. "Guilty Pleasure" by Cobra Starship starts playing and I sing along loudly. I love singing and dancing in busy places when I'm invisible. I'd dance now if I had the room.

Man I wish I could go sit in a chair, but someone would probably sit on me. And I can't be visible while I wait, because then people might notice me. I'd get hit on or someone might try to start a conversation with me or notice that I haven't showered in a while.

It's not like I'm not totally hygienic, I just don't always have a place to get clean, or sleep for that matter. It was my choice to be homeless. I mean what Immortal wants to go through the hassle of obtaining a fake identity and building a life and paying taxes? Keeping your immortality a secret is much harder when you live that way. That's why I decided that if I wanted a shower I'd just sneak into someone's empty house to take one. And sleeping outside isn't so bad when you don't have to worry as much about the elements. I prefer bunking down in a tree myself. Eating isn't that big of a deal either, because money isn't that essential. I can kill and eat an uncooked animal carcass, and I like raw rabbit meat better than Doritos, anyway. Everything I own is in my backpack and most of that I stole off the people I've killed. My underwear and the other stuff that I wouldn't want secondhand I bought with the money I found in their wallets. Also, being homeless made it that much easier for me to move here from Tallahassee after I was assigned the job.

The plane's pulling in: it's about time. Ever since the Alphas told me about him and what he means for the Twelve Races, I've been so eager to meet him. Ankur's account only made me more impatient. I turn off my iPod and walk to his gate and stand by the giant glass window-wall. People and people and more people are coming out, but I still don't see him. Oh no, He's not in trouble, is he? I so wouldn't be surprised…

Oh wait, there he is! The Alphas were right; he does stick out. He's wearing a striped orange shirt, a bunch of bracelets, khaki cargo pants, and sandals. I know that doesn't sound all that weird, but you don't see many people dressed like that in the U.S. His wardrobe is a bit hippie-ish. Man, I really hope he isn't a hippie. I couldn't stand them in the 60's and I can't stand them now.

I stride over and walk beside him. "So, you're the Notorious Pain in the Ass? I assumed you'd be taller. What are you, five foot nine? You're only an inch taller than me!" I say, knowing full well he can't hear me. "But good gravy, you're adorable! Juss wookadat face!" I want to pinch his cheek, but I know I shouldn't.

I know talking to someone (well it's more like talking _at_ someone) when they can't hear you must seem pretty weird, but it kind of comes with the territory. It's a Shroud thing. We've recently named it the Wilson Complex, like from the movie _Castaway_, where the guy talked to a volleyball he named Wilson even though he knew he wouldn't get an answer. I've heard that some Shrouds don't like to do it because it makes them feel ignored, but I love it. It's like yelling at the TV, only better.

We make it to baggage claim and wait for his luggage. "I'm Dimitri, by the way. I won't bother telling you my last name, 'cause it's very long and very Russian." The guy just keeps looking around the airport, oblivious to my presence. He really does look out of place, lost even. Poor kid. "I don't know your name. It's sort of an initiation thing for the new Watcher to figure it out. I hope it says it on your bag, 'cause I'm tired of calling you Kid." A khaki duffle bag turns the corner on the carousel conveyor-belt thingy, and he picks it up. After he slings it over his shoulder, I look for the info tag. I find it just as he starts walking off, so I have to read it as I follow him. "No way… Your name is Henry Griffin? _Griffin_? Is that seriously your surname?" Gryphons are one of the Twelve Races. This is just too good. "Wow. You really don't know how fitting that is, considering what you're meant for."

He heads outside. I'm surprised when he doesn't hail a taxi. "You're gonna _walk _the whole way?" He continues down the sidewalk and pulls out a piece of paper with directions on it. As he studies it I realize he's serious. "Okay, fine, I like walking. There's nothing like a five mile stroll." I really don't have a problem with it: I'm always full of energy, and five miles really is a stroll for me. It's this guy I'm worried about. He's just a fragile little mortal boy, and he already looks tired. I guess I'll just have to keep an eye on him.

As we make it through the city, I watch Henry take in his surroundings. He seems uncomfortable as we weave in and out of the huge crowds. I wish I could let him know he's not alone, but I'm not allowed. He's never allowed to know I'm here, ready to help him if he needs me. The only time I can ever really interfere with his life is if he would absolutely definitely die without my help. So all I can do now is help him shove his way through the throng and make sure no one mugs him.

We finally make it to his destination. Holy Schnikes, it's my old high school! I went to Smithson High in 1952, back when it was brand spankin' new. That might be why the Alphas put me in charge in D.C., because they knew Henry would go here and I'd know the layout of the building already. It's cool I guess, but the sight of it sure isn't bringing back entirely pleasant memories. In fact, the flashbacks are about as painful as getting punched in the nose by a big angry biker wearing brass knuckles. But I'm just gonna have to deal, because being a wussy is not an option.

Henry gets to the door, but it's locked and no one will let him in. Instead of waiting or finding another door like a normal person, he climbs. He scales the frickin' wall like a frickin' capuchin and climbs in through a frickin' window. I follow him up with enviable ease.

The room looks a little like an attic. It's very rafter-y. Henry walks across the beam-thing-a-ma-bobs, presumably looking for a way down. Then a bat comes rushing at him out of nowhere and throws him off balance. I panic like a little girl and reach for him, but I miss. Luckily, he lands in the open coffin below us and doesn't die.

Oh, boy. This is the auditorium, and for some reason there's a funeral going on. I'm still up in the attic-thingy, looking down at the coffin. When Henry fell in, the lid closed, and now I'm waiting anxiously for him to open it. I breathe a sigh of relief when he does, but there's a man standing by the coffin, and I'm afraid he's going to make sure Henry gets punished or something.

"Uncle Bryan!" Henry greets the man. I'm pretty sure this is the guy Henry is going to be living with. I wish him luck.

I have to run after the car as Uncle Bryan drives Henry home: it's too risky to try to sneak into the back seat. The running isn't really that strenuous; going this fast for this distance is like a jog down the driveway for me.

We make it to Uncle B's place. It's a swank house in the suburbs. Manicured lawn, landscaping, two-car garage… The place is so nice and quaint it makes me wonder if the Cleavers live here. "Nice digs," I say as Henry gets out of the car. I think he says something about his godfather Dante being a hyena, but I'm not sure because I'm too distracted by the two-story slice of normalcy.

I stay out in the hallway as Uncle Bryan leads Henry into his new room. Another boy is already in there.

"I'm sure you remember your cousin, Jasper." says Henry's uncle.

The boy takes off his headphones. He's got chestnut brown hair and big brown eyes.

"'Sup, Cuz?" greets Jasper.

"Supticuz?" Henry replies, confused and apparently unfamiliar with the term.

The boy rolls his eyes and clarifies. "What is up, cousin?"

After Henry nods in understanding, the uncle tells Jasper to help him unpack.

When he leaves I go stand in the bedroom. Jasper starts telling Henry all the rules. No touching his stuff, stay on your side of the room, yadda, yadda, yadda. It turns out that he's still mad about something Henry did to him six years ago. Dude, so what if he caught you in a trap which scared the living daylights out of you and made you pee your pants? I don't like him very much so far.

"Listen, Doe Eyes," I begin as he continues to tell Henry what he can and can't do, "He really doesn't need you being a jerk right now. It was a long flight, he's hungry, he's clearly out of his element, and his Godfather is dead. So do your cousin a favor and just shut it and help him unpack." Eventually he did, which almost made me feel like I helped.

We're now out on the roof. Not the roof roof: it's that mini roof thing between the first and second stories. He's playing a drum and he looks a little sad. The music is slow and entrancing.

"Hey, that's a sick beat. Where'd you learn to play like that?" I say, wishing he could hear me, "So I heard your uncle say you start school tomorrow. I wouldn't worry about it. You'll make lots of friends." Of course he just keeps playing, because he doesn't know I'm here. I really want to make him feel better.

I figure now is as good a time as any to give him the skinny on what's going down. "Here's the deal, Sparky," I start, knowing I might as well be talking to a wall, "I've been assigned to be your Primary Watcher while you're in D.C. That means I'm supposed to protect you. It's pretty much the same as a babysitter or bodyguard, but whatever. The job comes with a fancy title because it's a way bigger deal than making sure a three-year-old doesn't choke on his cheerios or taking a bullet for a dignitary. You're destined…"

How do I phrase this? Do I just come out and say he's basically destined to save the world? I mean he is, kinda, 'cause he's going to do the Twelve Races a major solid. He's going to save us from the imminent threat of war and betrayal. And if the Twelve Races are in turmoil, then the world is.

"Okay, so there was this prophecy, which turned out to be a prophecy about you, mostly because you found the Tomb of the Most Ancient One. Well, actually you found the Siren's Heart first, and _then_ the Tomb. Do you remember doing that? You were twelve at the time." There are Twelve Races and he was twelve when he found the Tomb. Hmm. "You were in Crete with your parents on an archaeological dig. The site wasn't far from a forest, a forest which was said to be inhabited by a fearsome monster. Of course you went looking for the monster, because you're an insane, danger-loving little boy. You met Pan, but to you he just looked like a portly man in a brown tweed suit. He was there to stop bad people from finding the Tomb, and I guess he didn't see you as a threat. Apparently he thought it was hilarious that you lit up with excitement when you heard the monster roar. You fell down an incline and Peter the Werewolf found you. Peter was the Guardian of the Tomb at the time. He was in his human form, so you had no idea that he was the monster you'd been looking for. When he saw that you had landed at the entrance to the Tomb, he totally freaked. We'd been waiting three-thousand years for that, Henry. You getting the Heart and stumbling on the Tomb meant that it was time to revive Mother, which was wonderful because all us descendants were dying to meet her.

"The Alphas maybe the Firsts of the Twelve Races, but Mother is the one who gave birth to the Alphas. She's the most powerful of us all. She's the one and only Siren, the most beautiful woman in the world… and you're destined to fall in love with her." Why didn't I start out with that to begin with? "You'll fall in love with Zosima, the most beautiful woman in the world, and she'll make you immortal so you can be with her forever. And that's how you'll save us.

"See, she's had some really bad luck with men. She's tried having flings with mortal men, but she always got so attached which isn't good because mortals die, and that always bummed her out. And if she were to ever get used to this and remain detached, then she'd probably end up not caring about them, which could lead to her losing her compassion for humanity. That would be really bad. It would be super convenient if she could just pick one and make him immortal, but it doesn't work that way. Contrary to popular belief, Monsteritis can't be contracted through a bite or an exchange of blood; it's completely genetic.

"As much as Zeus and a few other gods want her, she refuses to have a relationship with someone she knows is unfaithful or taken or both. Even if she _did_ cave in, it'd only lead to her heart being broken, because the gods (especially Zeus) are usually the bang her/ leave her types.

"And sure, the Twelve Races are immortal, but we're her children and that'd be like, really gross.

"And then there's this guy, Erebos… He is one bad cat. He's the father of all the Infernals. That's what we call the evil monsters, like Dragons and Unicorns and Furies. He wants to shack up with her because he thinks he can spawn stronger monsters if he mates with her. If she in her loneliness gives into him, it's all over. He'd corrupt her, and we'd all be torn between obeying Mother and doing what's right.

"She can't be alone for the rest of eternity, so that's why Zeus allowed her one chance at happiness: that one chance is you. You're the _only_ person she can make immortal." As I pause in my monologue, Henry stops playing and leans his head against the window frame. I'm glad he can't hear me, because this is a lot to process.

"She doesn't know about the prophecy, or about you. The Alphas didn't tell her because she might get too hasty and turn you too soon. And if she found out about you and then you died… Well, to say she'd be totally crushed is an understatement." Henry looks up at the stars. I bet he's noticing how few of them there are compared to the remote and beautiful places he usually lives.

"You get to meet her next year. It was supposed to be this year, but the Alphas said they're not sure she's ready just yet. They also said something about you probably needing time to adjust to this place. That could be true, but between you and me, I think they're scared." He turns and crawls nimbly through the window. At last, he's going to go to sleep.

"Night, kid." I say as he gets comfortable in his hammock. "I'll be here if you need me."

Going to Smithson High the following morning felt like major déjà vu. The atmosphere is pretty much the same, except now there's a computer lab, and the boys wear their pants really low and none of the girls have Mamie bangs.

I'm following Henry who's following Jasper to their first class, and Jasper is telling Henry about the teachers and other helpful stuff. I'd eavesdrop on the conversation, but I'd rather listen to my iPod. Not the gold-digger's iPod: I mean the other one I stole from a stone cold gangsta. Sure there's hardcore rap, but there's also some fun songs on it, too. I'm dancing to "Bust a Move" by Young M.C. as I invisibly make my way down the hallway.

I take out my earbuds and shut off my iPod once I'm in the classroom. There's bird stuff, like, everywhere. I see the teacher writing on the board.

"Welcome to Ornithology 101" He begins, turning to face the class."Birds, birds, birds... What can I say about birds that might capture the imagination of twenty twittering teens?"

He actually kind of looks like a bird; his beady eyes, big beaky nose, and chicken lips make me think he might have a perch instead of a chair. He also looks like he had his sense of humor surgically removed. Dude, this guy reminds me of my crotchety English teacher from back in the day. But he reminds me of another teacher even more...

"Holy crap, it's Professor Snape." I say under my breath about the irritable man who's now writing "Chapters 1-5" on the board.

He addresses the class again. "All you devotees of basic cable nature shows know with certainty that the cheetah is the fastest animal on earth... and you're wrong. It's a bird. Which bird?"

I watch as only one hand goes up. It's a girl: the kind of girl that other girls would be jealous of. Long, dark, silky tresses, gorgeous brown eyes, and a nice slender figure. The teacher permits her to speak.

"The spine tailed swift, also known as the white throated needletail, has reached recorded speeds of one hundred six miles per hour, which is why they call it a swift." The super-hot version of Hermione Granger says with cool confidence.

"Somebody did their summer reading." The bird guy takes a moment to glare at Henry. As he walks back to the board, Henry speaks.

"The swift isn't always the swiftest."

The Professor doesn't look too happy "Ah, if it isn't the young man who helped my father rest in pieces yesterday." The mean teacher replies. The class brakes out in laughter.

Henry looks a little vexed. "And again, I apologize for that."

"For future reference, Mr. Griffin, students only speak when called upon... or there are consequences." The grouch gets back to his lecture. "We begin in 1859, the year Darwin's Origin of Species was published. Now some of his theory was hatched by his observation on the importance of beak size – "

"Excuse me, sir, but to finish," Henry interjects without bothering to raise his hand. I don't see this ending well. "Peregrine falcons can reach speeds up to two hundred miles an hour diving for prey. I've seen them in Java..."

Henry trails off as Snape inserts a "1" in front of the "5", making the board read "Chapters 1-15". The whole class groans.

Ouch. Ten points from Gryffindor.

Later, when class is over and everyone is filing out, I have to stand by as some big dumb jerk shoves Henry through the doorway.

"'I've seen them in Java.'" He mutters, mocking Henry. "Loser."

"Hey!" Henry asserts, but the bully keeps walking. I'll make sure to punish the insufferable clod later. Maybe I'll tie his shoelaces together or put a beehive in his locker.

Then the hot Hermione Granger comes out of the classroom and approaches Henry. "FYI, the swift _is_ the swiftest."

"No... FIY... it's not."  
>"The teacher was asking about level motion, not gravity assisted plunge diving. If that was the case, I could shove you out of a 747 and crown you the world's fastest beast." She says rudely and with obvious certainty. I have a feeling she used the term "beast" for a specific purpose.<p>

"How dare you deride him with your dizzying intellect!" I exclaim. I officially don't like her anymore. I can't like her if she decides to act like a bitch towards Henry, no matter how insanely hot and smart she is.

Undeterred by her impolite behavior, Henry steps closer and sniffs her. "You smell."

The girl looks a little insecure now, but she answers with sureness. "No, I don't."

"You smell of curried tofu scramble. Are you a vegetarian?" Henry asks without a hint of criticism. I can detect the scent too, but I'm also picking up a strong whiff of this awesome lavender-lilac combination. It's subtle but _amazing. _Then I remember I've decided not to like her, remind myself that she's a _vegetarian _(gross), and take a few steps back so her pretty scent can't cloud my judgment.

Little Miss I-Know-Everything quickly turns, checks her breath, and walks off. I'm glad to see Henry has his own way of dealing with jerks.

"Who's that?" Henry asks Jasper, referring to the girl.

His expression is making me uncomfortable. He seems a little too... curious. Henry being curious about a girl is not a good thing, unless that girl is Zosima. Making sure Henry doesn't die is the main job description, but not the only one. I, like the many Watchers before me, have to keep Henry from getting a girlfriend. If he's dating a girl when Mother shows up, we're pretty much screwed, because she _does not_ go after a guy who is already taken. She has a strict policy against home-wrecking, which also applies to all Immortals. So if this is going to work, Henry has to stay single.

"Her name's Margaret Winnock. Some people call her Enig-Maggie." Jasper answers.

Henry turns to face Jasper with a confused expression. "Some people...?"

"Okay, I call her that." I'm not sure, but I think Jasper may be blushing. "Anyway, her dad's a CIA operative or something. She's crazy smart – "

"Ever ask her out?" Henry interrupts with a smirk.

"I... yes, yeah. I mean, what, do I give off some kind of wuss vibe or something?" Jasper stammers, clearly thrown off guard by his cousin's straightforwardness. I have to admit it's pretty amusing seeing Bambi-Boy get all spazzy.

"What did she say?"

"She said absolutely... nothing."

Henry smiles slightly. "She didn't laugh. That's a good sign."

"Yeah, well... I was suppose to practice my saxophone tonight, but now I have to go home and read about finches, all because you had to provoke someone from whom I need an 'A'" I'm not surprised Jasper opted to change the subject.

"I didn't know he'd punish the whole class just because I didn't raise my hand like some circus chimp," Henry argues.

"Cut him some slack; his dad just died!" Jasper counters as he adjusts the strap on his backpack.

"Yeah and he seems real sad about that." says Henry suspiciously as the teacher walks by, "Julian Morneau's definitely a suspect."

"A suspect?" Jasper repeats, sounding as if he thinks the idea is ridiculous. "You know something the coroner doesn't?"

"Not yet. But I might once I get into Dante's office and take a look at the crime scene." Henry seems pretty serious. I bet he's totally going to do it.

"Dude, he was an old man. No crime, ergo no crime _scene_." Distracted by something on the wall a few yards away, Jasper changes the subject again. "Oh, hurry up before all the good spots are taken."

"Good spots for what?" Henry asks.

"For the study program. Everybody interns at the museum once a week. It's part of the school curriculum." Jasper says as he scans the bulletin board.

"Don't we get _any_ free time?" Henry asks sulkily.

"Welcome to the urban jungle. You want my advice? Get a gig at the DOD.'

"Department of defense?" guesses Henry.

Jasper makes a face. "Division of Dinosaurs. You should fit right in."

I think that sounds pretty cool, but Henry seems to be looking for something in particular. "No, this one." He says, pointing to a paper on the board, "In the Tesla Building, where Dante's office is."

I dutifully (and worriedly) follow Henry through the school and then the museum. This "investigating" business seems like it could turn into a big swirling tornado of trouble. Dante probably died because he was old, but what if Henry's right? That means the guy I'm in charge of protecting is looking for a murderer.

"Seriously, dude? It's only been like twenty-fours and you're already putting yourself in danger?" Potential, highly unlikely danger, but still. "You'd be making my job needlessly hard by throwing yourself into these kinds of situations. How about you work at the library? The worst that can happen to you there is a paper cut."

Henry still has no idea I'm here, so he just keeps walking.

"You know what?" I begin, instilling confidence in my voice, "You go ahead and work near your godfather's office. Snoop around and search for 'clues'. Try to find his 'killer'. Look and look and look _all you want_, because there's probably nothing for you to find." I don't _entirely_ believe this, but it's helping to soothe my nerves. "There's probably nothing for me to worry about."

A moment later I get that feeling: that comfortable, familiar feeling I get around other Immortals. I look around for the source and find a very old, very wrinkly janitor pushing a custodian cart down the hallway. He looks like a conglomeration of the old guy from the Pixar shorts, the geezer who dances in the six flags commercials, and Gollum. As he gets closer, he looks around as if he senses something.

Keeping an ear out for Henry, who's still heading for the Tesla building, I walk up right behind the stooped old man.

"If you want to talk to me you've got to show yourself, you silly spook." The janitor says quietly.

I crouch behind a stone statue and breathe in deeply, concentrating on becoming visible. As I exhale, I can feel the strange tingling sensation, like dull pins and needles under my skin. I walk out from behind the statue, visible as any regular human being. The trick isn't _staying_ visible or invisible; it's the switching back and forth that takes concentration.

I move to stand in front of the old guy, and he beams at me. "Hello!" he greets in his rickety old man voice.

"Shapeshifter?" I ask, although it comes out as more of a statement.

He nods his head eagerly. "You betcha! Are you the other Watcher? I was told I'd meet the other Watcher today."

"Yeah, but careful, buddy, no one is supposed to talk about that stuff when people can hear." I admonish. "Ditch your cart and we'll go on the roof."

"Okie-dokie!" He says, shuffling after me like he seriously needs a walker.

Once we're finally on the roof, I make us invisible, because you never know who or what is listening. The janitor and I sit on the roof ledge, facing the roof access door.

"So..." I pause to look at his janitor name-patch thingy, "... Melville, before we get started, you might want to change to your true form. It's the polite thing to do. And it's hard to take you seriously when you look like you're probably senile."

"Oh, sorry! Sure thing."

The human prune promptly morphs into a sandy-haired fifteen-year-old boy. His grin is now adorable (though a bit manic) rather than slightly off-putting and his eyes are nearly as blue as mine. I know this guy.

"Carl?"

"Ta-da!" His arms are spread out like an excited child revealing a surprise.

I smile widely. Carl is the Ward of my friend, Virva, whom I hunted Nazis with in World War II. I sit with them and my previous Ward at the Golden Underground every year.

"Good to see you, kid."

"I'm an _adult_, thank you very much. I turned one hundred twenty-six years ago! I can hunt on my own and canoodle with mortal girls – "

"Then why haven't I seen you fight in the Golden Underground?" I ask, trying not to laugh at his word choice of "canoodle". "You're old enough for that, too."

He pouts. "Virva doesn't want me too."

Seems kind of weird considering that Virva always participates. "Why not?"

"She doesn't like the idea of seeing me get ripped to pieces."

Okay, now that's just illogical. "Dude, you're an Immortal. The pain is brief and the pieces go right back together a minute later."

"That's what I said! But she's not budging, and nobody wants to argue with her about it."

I don't doubt that. She was a freaking death machine in the war and she's just as ruthless in the arena at the Underground. "She probably thinks of you as her kid. During the war she'd take your picture out and talk about how proud she was of you and how she much she missed you."

Carl gets bashful in an _aw, shucks_ sort of way. "She is a mommy, isn't she?" He shook his head as if to focus. "Anyway, sorry, I need you to fill me in on this Watcher stuff..."

"Not much to tell, really. The Secondary Watcher and I... Wait, why do you need to know? And how do you know about it all in the first place?" I gasp. "Is Virva the Secondary? That'd be so great! Although it's a little weird to have a Nymph as a Secondary in a urban area. I was told they were always chosen as Primaries for more remote places."

"Actually, she's already done it. She was the Primary in Peru."

"So... who's my backup?"

Carl grins with enthusiasm. "Me!"

I feel my jaw drop slightly. "You can't be serious."

"Why wouldn't I be?" His expression makes him look like a confused puppy. "Shapeshifters are usually Secondaries. And I'm over one hundred years old and I'm not anywhere near becoming a Rebel..."

He's got to be lying. I mean since he knew that Watchers existed at all, I should've assumed he was the Secondary, because the whole thing about the prophecy is only known by the Alphas and those they choose as Watchers, but _come on_, him? The Alphas couldn't have possibly thought this kid was capable of being a Watcher. "Show me the tattoo."

"Okie-dokie!" Carl says as he unzips his custodian jumpsuit and pulls down his t-shirt collar. Two inches below his right collar-bone is a palm-sized tattoo of a snake biting its tail in the shape of an infinity sign, the detail down to the last scale so intricate and precise that the snake almost looks real. The ink is an iridescent gray-black- a pigment Immortals extract from Hydra blood. Carl's got the mark of a Watcher, just like me.

This is... well, this is a disaster. I've already got one kid to look after; I don't need to be babysitting this munchkin, either.

I smile brightly, even though I feel like groaning miserably. "Welcome to the club."

I politely excused myself, saying I needed to get back to Henry. I wasn't lying; I did totally need to get back within hearing range. The only thing I left out was that I planned on calling our superiors.

My cellphone, the untraceable kind given to Watchers by the Alphas, rings two and a half times before someone picks up.

"Hello?" A man's voice answered.

My hands feel clammy and my words stick in my throat. Alphas are crazy intimidating, no matter how nice they are. And I was about to complain to them.

"S-Sir?" be cool, man, be cool. I clear my throat. "Sir, we may have a problem concerning the Secondary Watcher."

"At ease, soldier." the voice chuckles, "Why does every Beta- and Gamma-generation Immortal feel like they have to call me Sir? Quit sweating and call me Lukos."

His easygoing manner doesn't really help. Knowing I'm talking to the Alpha Werewolf sort of makes it impossible to chill out. I take a deep breath.

"Lukos," the informality makes me feels so uncouth. "Did you make Carl a Watcher?"

The other end is silent for a moment, then: "Washington, D.C. Secondary Watcher: Carl Huffcup, Shapeshifter. Mortal years: 1885-1900. Birthplace: Baudette, Minnesota. Elder: Virva, Nymph. He's right here on the list."

I fight the urge to sigh miserably as I realize he's registered. "So you remember consulting with the other Alphas about him and everything?"

"Absolutely. He's a little green, but he's trustworthy." I shiver inwardly as his voice drops. "Why? Do you have a problem with this guy?"

"No! He's... great." My tone isn't very convincing.

"Dimitri?" He asks reprovingly.

"Alright, alright! I think he's too immature for this amount of responsibility. There, I said it."

Much to my relief, the Alpha Werewolf laughs. "I'm glad you care so much, but don't let Carl's nature fool you. He's loyal and real handy in a fight."

It's my turn to laugh. "Carl? What, does he 'cute' people to death?"

"Among other things. Just trust our judgment on this one."

His tone suggests that the conversation is over. "Yes, Alpha. Please forgive my insolence."

"There's nothing to forgive, Dimitri." I think I can hear him smiling. "It was prudent of you to confirm the Secondary's identity."

"Oh," I'm so relieved I didn't piss him off! "Okay, cool."

I hang up the phone and go join Henry.

He wasn't where he should've been. Instead of being _inside_ the Tesla Building, I found him scaling it. Seriously, he was climbing the wall. Maybe he forgot he already did that today.

I follow him and reach the top of the building in seconds. We both enter a cool-looking office, and I realize it belongs (or used to belong) to that guy Dante.

Henry looks pretty sad. They must have been close. I lean against a far wall and watch as he puts his hand on the back of the red leather chair behind the desk.

"Whatever you found must've been worth killing for." Henry says. He must be thinking out loud. "How can a killer fake a heart attack?"

Then the sound of the lock opening on the office door makes him scramble under the desk. I watch nervously as a security guard enters and walks around the room. Getting caught would put an end to Henry's searching (temporarily), but I still don't want to see him get nabbed.

Henry, still under the desk, reaches for something at the edge of the area rug just a few inches way. It's a little bitty dart. He puts his fingertip to the point and then tastes it. I cross my fingers and hope he doesn't keel over.

"I knew it. He _was_ murdered." Henry says to himself. He doesn't even whisper it. Stupid boy.

"Get up, punk!" the guard says.

Startled, Henry drops the dart and it falls into a crack in the wood flooring.

I follow Henry as he's led by museum security across the manicured lawn of the Bartlett house.

"All you had to do was not talk to yourself," I nag Henry, even though he can't hear me. "It's really not that hard to do. You just keep your cakehole shut so no words come out."

Uncle Bryan opens the door, looking disappointed but unsurprised. I gotta admit I don't find all of this very surprising, either.

"Once we confirmed his identity, he was a perfect gentleman." the security guy says. I smirk at Henry's annoyed expression. You shouldn't have gotten caught, dumb-ass.

"Thanks for your time and discretion, officers." says Uncle Bryan.

The museum rent-a-cops leave. Henry gives his uncle an innocent smile.

"Your mom warned me about your gift for hyperbole but I had no idea – "

"I said I have proof." Henry looks a little miffed and steps onto the porch.

"Where is this poison blow dart?"

"Well, I _had_ proof."

"Well, now you're grounded." Henry frowns at him. "And if you don't shape up, Virginia Boy's Academy is only an hour away. Make that fifty-five minutes because when I'm agitated, that's how I roll."

It's a while after dark and I'm hanging out on the roof (invisible, like I am ninety-five percent of the time). The boys are in Jasper's room. Last I checked, Bambi-Boy was doing homework and Monkey Boy was doing a handstand. I guess he thinks letting all the blood rush to his head is a way to meditate.

"Now We Can See" by The Thermals blares from my headphones and drowns out their voices. I can just barely hear them: I'm really not trying to listen in, so all I pick up is that Julian Morneau was written out of his father's will, and something about Henry encountering a poisonous bird. I remember Ankur told me the New Guinea Watchers had to deal with that. The Secondary Watcher, a Shapeshifter named Otis, disguised himself as a witch-doctor or something and saved him with bug toxin.

A few minutes go by and I'm relaxing on my back, staring at the stars. I put my iPod away to conserve the battery, and I'm glad I did. If I hadn't, I may not have noticed Henry jumping out of the bedroom window and dashing across the lawn.

* * *

><p>Please review!<p>

I don't _need _a Beta, but I'd like to have one who knows the series well, if anyone's interested.


	3. Pilot: Part 2

I followed him to a tomb. A freaking_ tomb_. He's opened his godfather's coffin and now he's talking at the dead guy in it.

"'The thing very very very close to my heart,'" he says as he stares at Dante's corpse, "Why say 'very' three times if it wasn't a clue?"

He thinks for a minute and then starts rooting around in his dead godfather's jacket. As soon as he pulls out his hand – clutching some little brass thing – there's a noise. Somebody is coming in here.

Henry hurriedly stashes the brass thing in his pocket and closes the coffin lid. Jasper rounds the corner and Henry shoves him against the wall, his hand at his cousin's throat.

"It's just me!" Jasper croaks.

Henry looks surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"Can't talk. Vocal cords crushed!"

Monkey boy lets him go and apologizes. As soon as Jasper is done coughing, he grabs Henry by the throat with both hands and smashes him against the wall. "Are you freaking out of your mind breaking into a tomb? Do you have any idea how much trouble you'd be in if you got caught?"

"Yes." Henry says as best he can with Jasper's hands pressing on his larynx, "But wait 'til you see what I found!"

Jasper drives Henry home and I follow at a breezy pace of forty miles an hour. When they stop in front of the house, they stay in the Smart car and talk about the funny-looking alligator thing Henry got off the dead body. I very carefully crawl on top of the teensy tiny car and wait for them to finish so we can all go to sleep already. Not that I'm sleepy yet: I only need two hours to be well rested. It's just that Henry's much less likely to get in trouble if he's unconscious.

I don't really listen too closely: I don't want to make eavesdropping _too_ much of a habit. I do catch a phrase or two, the most disturbing being "tribal nipple bolt". Great. Now I know_ exactly_ where the brass alligator key came from.

Sitting on top of the car without moving it is harder than it should be. It's just so _tiny, _like, _really, really_ little. Honestly, I have to fight the urge to play catch with it. I bet I could, though. If I can lift and throw an eighteen-wheeler 150 yards without breaking a sweat, then surely I can use this matchbox car as a hacky sack.

They finish talking – Jasper agreed to help Henry so he can keep his clown car – and finally head into the house. I slide off the car and settle down on a high branch of a big maple tree in the front yard.

I know for a fact that Henry suspects the wrong person. If the killer really was that mean bird guy, I would've picked up on it. Committing patricide and not feeling sorry about it tends to get you Marked. So I think it's a little unnecessary to go rifling through his desk.

Henry is snooping around in Morneau's classroom, trying to find anything that could link him to the murder. Jasper is the lookout, and he doesn't seem too pleased about it.

Last night, Jasper said he promised to help Henry figure out the mystery of Dante's murder – as long as it was within reason. Shame on him for not realizing that "within reason" is a fairly wide spectrum.

I'm standing next to the door frame, peeking in every once in a while to see how Henry's doing. He's pretty convinced the creepy teacher is the one responsible, and I don't blame him. If I already knew he wasn't guilty, I'd think the same thing. Morneau is a bitter, unpleasant, lemon of a man who didn't get along with the victim. And he has dead little eyes. Surely he's capable of murder, right?

Jasper starts whining about how dangerous this is. He continues to stare anxiously down the hallway before turning around to glance at Henry.

"Haven't you found anything yet?"

"Nothing to link him to the murder. There's no poison, this key doesn't fit anything," Henry keeps moving stuff around in the drawer. "What's the rush? He's napping in the teacher's lounge."

Jasper resumes looking out for Bird Man. "Yes, napping, meaning at some point he gonna wake u – "

I laugh loudly when I realize he's just been hit in the neck with a spit-wad. He wipes it off and looks back at Henry.

"What was that for?" he asks irritably.

Henry is holding a green straw by his mouth. "Testing a potential murder weapon."

"It's a _straw._" Jasper says as he turns his attention back to the hallway. I'm glad he did; Birdbrain is heading towards the classroom. As far as I can tell, they're screwed.

Jasper frantically whispers for Henry to get the hell out of the room, but there's no way for them to get out and past Morneau undetected. Well, I guess I could make them invisible, but that's not really an option. Bird Guy already sees them, anyway.

"What's going on here?" asks Snape.

"We're looking for the killer." answers Henry, a completely serious look on his face.

What the hell, kid? Have you no subtlety or common sense?

"Uh... uh, yeah. Yes, the killer extra credit handouts? From the last lecture?" Jasper says.

"Nice save, dude." I say to Jasper. Maybe this stringy, doe-eyed geek can actually help keep Henry alive.

Dr. Creepy stares for a moment, then looks to the bulletin board behind them. "They're right there."

Henry holds the alligator key behind his back in an attempt to hide it from the teacher.

"What's that in your hand?"

"Nothing." Henry responds.

All of a sudden I flinch as the feeling hits me: that horrible, powerful, unmistakable feeling. My eyes hurt like they would if I had suddenly opened them in the light after spending several hours in total darkness, because my pupils have quickly contracted into large slits, like a cat's. I look around for the cause of my reaction. Descending the staircase above us is a woman carrying a brown box. She_ looks_ harmless, but I know better. I'm being bombarded with visions of what she's done to deserved to be Marked. A blow dart being loaded... an old man putting his hand to his neck, as if he'd been hit by something small... he stumbles around a museum, _this_ museum, until he falls down screaming in terror... then the old man is dead, and there's a gleeful, girlish laugh.

She's the one Henry's been hunting down. And if she could kill her boss just to get her hands on whatever the hell he was working on, how much would she object to offing a nosy little punk getting in her way?

As soon as the bespectacled wretch sees what's in Henry's hand, I get even _more _visions. She's plotting on how to get the brass alligator from him, even if she has to pry it from his cold, dead hands. Something about accomplices, black ninja-ish outfits, and guns.

Ima kill this bitch! I'm gonna wait 'til she's alone then attack her like a rabid dog! Just being in proximity with a Marked One pumps me full of rage and blood-lust and hunger, but the realization that she's a direct threat to Henry has intensified it all. It's taking a lot of will power to not kill her before she can even make it to the last freaking step.

The homicidal bitch helps the boys out by distracting Bird Man so they can escape. I growl at her viciously as I move to follow them, murderous glee clouding my mind with thoughts of tasty, tasty vengeance.

Then I realize I can't kill her; at least, not until Henry knows the truth. If she goes missing or is found dead in a ditch, then Henry will assume she was attacked just like Dante was. That would screw _everything_ up! And it's likely no one would ever find out the truth, and that would suck. One of the most annoying things an Immortal deals with is knowing a murderer died a saint. So... I guess that means no steak tonight.

"I can't kill that deceptive, avaricious reprobate! Dammit, dammit, dammit!" I scream out loud. I'm not heard, obviously, otherwise there'd be people staring at me like they're wondering where I've misplaced my straitjacket and cocktail of powerful sedatives.

I'm pretty sure my only option is to let this whole thing play out. And after she's been exposed as a murderess and incarcerated, I'll just have to hope she gets the death penalty. Because as every Immortal knows, death row inmates aren't _really _given the chair or the shot, they're given to _us_. It's a deal the Alphas made with the U.S. government a few decades ago, and I'm thankful for it.

Henry and Jasper have led me out of the school and into the museum. I have no idea why they're here; if they mentioned it on the way to the building, I was definitely too busy convincing myself it would actually be beneficial to not kill a Marked One.

They're walking over to Maggie, who's wearing a dark-red docent's jacket. That figures. Of course she's a docent; it's a perfect job for a know-it-all like her.

"Hey, Maggie." Jasper says hopefully.

She sighs and ignores him. A little boy about to touch this big Buddha-ish looking statue catches her attention.

"Sir, " Maggie says to the kid, "Please don't high-five the Tarka Mudra. He's an ancient symbol of peace and love, not one of your homies."

"C'mon, Maggie, we just need a minute." begs Jasper.

Maggie rolls her eyes. "It's never a minute with boys." She takes the brass alligator and turns the thingy to make the key go in and out. Intrigued, she walks a few paces as she studies it, the boys trailing after her. "You may know something about birds, but you know nothing about the history of your own country."

As she turns around, she sees Henry shoving his face into a gigantic vase with colorful, intricate designs all over it.

"Hello!" his voice echoes as he yells into it.

"Where were you raised, in a cave?" Maggie says it like she's reprimanding a child.

Henry looks at her innocently and smiles. "Only for a year."

I laugh as Maggie scoffs irritably and continues walking. After a moment, she begins giving the guys a history lesson.

"This talisman depicts one of the most famous vessels of the civil war. The U.S.S. Alligator was the first submarine built by the union army. Abraham Lincoln himself witnessed its maiden voyage."

"What happened to it?" Jasper asks.

Maggie stops walking and turns to face the boys. "Historians agree that it sank in a storm while being towed out to sea, but conspiracy theorists believe it was on a secret mission. Either way, it remains missing to this day."

Henry looks at her curiously. "How do you know all this stuff?"

"I have a photographic memory." She says it like she's trying to not make it sound like a big deal.

Impressed and a little surprised, Henry and I stare at her with eyebrows raised.

"And," she continues as she takes something from her pocket, "They sell these in the gift shop." A tiny brass alligator on a key ring dangles from her outstretched hand. She removes it from the ring. "Only, my replica is made of pot metal and lacks secret spring mechanisms." Henry takes the key chain from her. "Find out what F.S. means and you could be on to something huge."

Jasper looks at her quizzically. "You mean the sub?"

"I mean the million dollars of army payroll the sub was rumored to be carrying. If by some fluke this key is real, it could unlock a fortune in gold."

The guys look at each other in amazement, then thank Maggie and leave as quickly as possible.

Henry and Jasper spread out a map on the windshield of the Smart car as I pace nervously in the parking area. The secretary and her goons might attack them now. It's an open enough space, one of the few places it could happen, and she's had enough time to call her accomplices. I keep walking in front of the guys, hoping if they're shot at that I can take a bullet or two that was meant for them. They're talking but I just barely register what they're saying.

I'm sure I could easily save them, but trying to be more than a shield could backfire. Tackling them to the ground out of the line of fire could result in injuries that would make it difficult to get away, and of course they'd probably be dazed after getting tackled by an unseen force. Right now they're hunched over the front of the car with their backs to a wall, which is about as safe as I can hope for right now.

I'd go looking for the baddies and knock them out or something, but that would require leaving the guys, and I don't know what direction the bad guys would come from. Turning my hearing up would be useful too, but if my hearing is that sensitive when a gunshot rings out, I'll be too busy trying to keep my ears from ringing to pay much attention to anything else.

Then again, I could be overreacting. They might not even get attacked right now. The homicidal secretary might have decided not to go through with her plan. I may be worrying over nothing and –

My body collides with the back of the Smart car as small caliber bullets shoot through me. A few of them embed themselves into the car, but as I fall to the pavement I can feel every single wound, and a few bullets are still stuck: one in my spine near the base of my neck, one in my right lung, and another just above my left eye. If the bullets were bigger I'd definitely be unconscious, but these feel like they're only 9 mm. The brief, initial pain dissipated just as I hit the ground, and now I have to wait for my body to push the bullets out. I can't move much with them in me, especially with where they are.

I listen anxiously as Henry and Jasper run from the people in black, hoping they can escape. Henry tells Jasper to go, that they're only after Henry, and I realize I'm glad he's right; Jasper's weak and defenseless, and with him out of the way, the much more capable Henry can just worry about himself. I hear the door to the school swing open. At least Jasper's smart enough to avoid trouble when he can.

My gold blood has crawled back into most of my wounds, my skin sealing up behind it. The bullet is out of my lung. It dings as it hits the pavement.

The bullet from my spine is uncomfortable as it wriggles past my esophagus, but I'm more concerned with the chase. I don't hear any more gunshots; they must've run out of bullets. There are no screams of agony or pleads for mercy, so I'm assuming the kids are okay so far. I think Jasper is hiding in a classroom or the boy's bathroom or something, but I can't quite figure out where Henry is. There's too many people running and climbing around on the roof.

As soon as the last bullet, the one in my brain, drops to the ground with a dull clink, I take off at about 100 miles an hour, guided by the sound of shoes hitting the rooftop. A moment later I see him just a few yards away, hanging like a sloth from beneath a black, metal, overhanging thing. A small object glints in the light as it falls from his pocket and into a puddle below. But I don't give a damn about that stupid little alligator; all three of the ninjas are here, and one of them has a blowgun like the one I saw in my vision of Dante dying.

Thankfully, Henry's not _entirely_ stupid. He sees the blowgun and gets the hell out of there. He somersaults over an aperture just as the blowgun ninja (whom I assume is the secretary) aims her weapon. She puts it down once she sees her accomplice has what she came for. I zoom past them as the brass alligator is tossed to her.

I can hear Henry's heart beating like a jackrabbit's when he finally stops. He's leaning against a brick wall, trying to catch his breath. Yelling at him for getting mixed up in all this is super tempting, but I won't. The secretary has the key so that means this is probably over...

Wait, what's in Henry's hand?

He turns the alligator over in his hands, the one I'm sure he dropped, and looks at the little "F.S." engraving. Then he makes the key part pop out of the gator's mouth. The ninjas must've gotten the key chain instead.

Aw, crap.

"So let me get this straight," Dean Bartlett begins as he paces behind his desk, "You were leaving the library, there was a hit and run, and the car is in the shop with minor damage." He doesn't seem to completely believe it.

"Yes sir, that is the truth." Henry says with a passable amount of conviction. Jasper stays quiet.

The dean stares at them, looking for any signs of weakness. They maintain their calm appearance, although Jasper's heart is pounding like it's trying to break out of his chest. After a moment, Mr. Bartlett nods.

"Well, I'm glad you boys are okay." He walks over to the door and opens it, gesturing for them to leave. "I'll see you at home."

They walk outside without saying a word, and then:

"_That's_ the truth?" Jasper says incredulously.

"Wedid leave the library, someone put a hit out on us, we ran, the car is in the shop and a minor is liable for the damage." I had no idea Henry was so good at half-truths. It's kinda spooky because it's a skill that Immortals have to be very well-versed in.

"Okay, well what do you think my dad is going to say when he sees the repair bill?"

"By then you'll have enough money to buy your own car dealership."

"Whatever deal we had is off, okay? I'm out. And so are you. They have the key, remember?"

Oh, if only that were true. "No, they have Maggie's replica!" Henry pulls out the brass alligator and turns it to reveal the key.

Jasper looks really irritated. "You don't know what those engravings mean, or what that thing unlocks, and you never will." It's harsh, but at least Jasper is trying to knock some sense into him.

"Faith," Henry counters, "Is taking the first step, even when you don't see the whole staircase."

"My car has bullet holes in it! I was almost killed my masked ninjas!" I must admit that's a forceful argument.

"Great," Henry looks hurt. "First my parents quit on me and now you, too?"

"I think you have me mixed up with someone who cares." Jasper says as he backs away, "You're on your own."

Henry watches him as he catches up to his dad. That sad, lonely look on his face makes me feel like I should say something.

"Hey," I look at him as if he can hear me, "He's just freaked out, that's all. Just give him time to get over being shot at."

I follow him down the sidewalk as he studies the brass alligator again.

Jasper refused to talk to Henry the rest of the day. He even ignored him when Henry said good night. Now Henry is out on the mini-roof playing that drum again, like he did his first night here.

I wish I could be mad at Jasper, but seriously: he was attacked by ninjas with guns. Of course he's freaked out. Henry almost got him killed and now he just wants to stay the hell out of it. I'm sorry to say I'm kind of on his side. Why can't Henry be more like him? If he avoided danger like Jasper does, then my job would be a billion times easier.

My phone rings, and I fish it out of my backpack to answer it.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Wallflower."

"Virva?" I'd been meaning to ask Carl where she is. He's not old enough to be on his own yet, so she has to be in the city somewhere.

The sound of a knife hitting a cutting board precedes her answer. "Yep. So, Carl tells me you're the Primary Watcher here. How's that going?"

"Well, Henry's still alive."

"That's about all you can ask for with him, eh? No point in trying to keep him safe. That boy is danger's little bitch."

"Damn straight." I hear the knife hit the board again. "What are you doing?"

"Carving up a side of beef. I'm running the Immortal-owned butcher shop down on 5th Street."

"Culver's Market?"

"That's right. And what are you doing?"

"Sitting in a tree."

"Do I hear drums in the background? What's Henry upset about?"

"His cousin's mad at him. How did you know?"

"He started that drum habit when I was his Watcher. He does it when he's sad."

"Oh. Hey, I've been meaning to ask – "

Suddenly her tone picks up. "Is he still adorable? I remember him being the darlingest little 13-year-old!"

"Yeah, he's the quwtest widdle thing. So um, can you explain to me why Carl is a Watcher? I don't mean to offend, but – "

"No worries, I get it." The knife scrapes back and forth on a knife sharpener. "Despite his gentle nature, Carl can be quite the bloodthirsty little executioner."

"Sorry?"

"He's like Jekyll and Hyde. You've only ever seen him when he's docile, but let me tell you, he's not like that when he's hunting or feeling threatened or protecting someone. He's ruthless. Like show-no-mercy, Atilla the Hun ruthless. He's sweet, but he can be a raging machine of terror if he has to be. Just the kind of person you'd want as a protector."

That makes sense, I guess. Although I have a hard time picturing that sanguine little bastard being scary. "So, you're telling me Carl puts the 'laughter' in 'slaughter'?"

She giggles. "And the 'cute' in 'execute'."

I smile. "Awesome."

The next day, Henry's still getting the silent treatment. I was hoping Jasper would've cooled off a bit, and he probably would have if it wasn't for that horrific pop quiz in bird class. They had to look at a pictures of bird feet and say what species they were, which is irrefutable proof that Morneau is a sadist.

After getting papers with big fat red F's on them, the guys went to the football field. Well, Jasper went to the football field and Henry followed.

When they got there, they saw Morneau and his two teacher buddies. Henry suspects that they are the ones who attacked them, which I know is wrong. Jasper the Band Geek couldn't care less about Henry's suspicions, so he just marched right off to band practice. That same jerk who shoved Henry was on the field for football practice and saw the opportunity to, as he put it, "launch a geek-seeking missile". So when the football torpedoed through the air, Henry quickly grabbed a javelin from Maggie (who I think was out there for gym class) and threw it so it speared the football into the ground a few feet in front of Jasper. It was totally kick-ass.

Unfortunately, that act caused Jasper to forgive Henry. And now, with the newly found knowledge that F.S. stands for Francis Scott (Key), they're in Dante's office. It was funny to watch Jasper jelly-leg his way up the wall. I'm surprised his al-dente-noodle limbs were able to hoist him onto the balcony-bridge thingy. While he was struggling to pull his gawky body up the wall, Henry had been examining the painting above the fireplace. I want to feel anxious about him standing on a wobbly chair in order to reach it, but compared to armed ninjas and bird toxin, rickety furniture just isn't that worrisome.

"Tell me again why we didn't use my all-access pass card?" Jasper panted as he walked into the office.

"Security guards, security cameras..." He lifted the painting from above the mantle. "This is Francis Scott Key, right?"

"Definitely," answered Jasper, still trying to catch his breath.

Henry put it back on the wall and sighed. "As far as I can tell, this is just a painting."

"Great, now we're right back to where we started."

But Henry isn't a bit discouraged. "We need to look at this room like it's an archeological site." He said before hopping off the chair.

"Well, everything in here has to do with Dante's career: the history of transportation." That's when Jasper notices the quote just above the fireplace. "'To the victor belongs the spoils.'"

"That doesn't have anything to do with transportation," Henry turns to look at the quote.

"Exactly," Jasper gestures to the painting, "It's a quote about greed from F. Scott Fitzgerald, a descendant of Francis Scott Key. His full name was Francis Scott Key Fitzgerald."

"And you know all this how?"

"I actually do my homework." Jasper answers pointedly.

Henry turns his attention back to the mantle. "Spoils," he says as he runs his fingers across the letters, "That's another word for treasure. This must mean something." His fingers put pressure on the letter "N", and it yields slightly. The guys stare in amazement.

"Woah," Henry interjects, "I bet this is some sort of anagram lock. If we scramble the letters we'll figure out the password."

Holy crap. When did Dante have time to turn his fireplace mantle into a freaking anagram lock?

They can't hear me, but I'll say it anyway. "Maybe it's 'open'?"

"Okay," Jasper starts brainstorming, "Um... cholesterol snot!"

Henry and I both give him that _really? _look.

"Okay, fine..." Jasper tries again. "Uh, senile ostrich belch."

"We need to think like Dante." Henry's getting kinda frustrated. "Lincoln's historic vessel." Nope. "We're over-thinking this!"

"Try 'open'." I offer.

"Well, my dad says that sometimes the most difficult questions have the simplest answers." Jasper says helpfully.

"Like 'open'." I say mostly to myself.

Henry seems to have figured it out. "O... P... E... N." He says as he pushes each letter. The mantle promptly slides upward, and the boys stare dumbly at what's revealed.

"'Even when you don't see the whole staircase'," Henry quotes as he examines the set of stairs descending into darkness.

"You guys are going down there, aren't you?" Yes, yes they are. Jasper was reluctant, but he still follows Henry. I sigh irritably and go after them.

After a few flights of stairs we end up in a tunnel – a gross, damp, sewer-y tunnel. A rat runs into my foot and I nudge it away. The flashlights they found at the entrance to the tunnel illuminate the dreary concrete space as they walk. Every once in a while I catch the faint scent of saltwater.

"So, where did you learn to track, or whatever you're doing?" Jasper asks.

"Peruvian Amazon, Tanzania, Macedonia... wherever my parents went." He shines his flashlight upward. "I'm not very good at it."

"Are you mad at them?"  
>"Who?"<p>

"Your parents. For sending you away. I know how I felt when my mom moved back to France, so..."

Does that mean Jasper is half-French?

"I think they figured it was time for _somebody_ to grow up, and it wasn't going to be them."

I'm not sure how accurate that is, but I do know that part of the reason Henry is in D.C. is because the Alphas thought maybe he would get in less trouble here. They sent a Vampire to persuade his parents (persuasion is kind of their thing) to send him here if he ever messed up again. Something about "the structure and discipline a school provides being necessary for a young man of his disposition". So far that plan isn't working so well.

Henry has stopped in front of the dozenth alcove they've passed. Jasper wants to know why this one's so special, and Henry says he smells seawater.

I follow them into the alcove, and in the room (Or is it more like a cave? Maybe it's just another tunnel) there's tons of boxes and tools, along with a table and chair. Reflected light from the sewer water dances on the walls.

"What is this place?" asks Jasper.

"A field station!" Henry answers excitedly, "Dante must've been working this dig for weeks!"

Jasper points the flashlight at the table. "Look at all the stuff he found," Then he sees a generator. When he revs it like a lawn-mower, the field station is suddenly illuminated by a bunch of lights on the walls.

"The submarine, it's... it's right here!"

Is that what that is? At first I thought it was one big-ass rusty pipe.

"There really _are_ alligators in the sewers," quips Henry.

After they get over their initial shock, they start snooping around. Henry is examining a pile of bones on the work table when Jasper makes a grunting noise from within the sub. I'm surprised he went in there before Henry.

"Hey, a little help over here?"

Is he stuck? Haha – I mean, oh no! Henry, go help him.

But he's not stuck: he's just having trouble lifting a chest out of the sub.

"I guess the old man couldn't haul this thing out himself," Jasper groans as Henry takes the heavy box from him.

Henry is the one who carries it back through the sewers, up the wooden stairs, and into Dante's office. I guess that's fair, since Jasper was the one who went into the submarine to get it.

Jasper sweeps some books off the desk, and the chest slams onto it with a loud thud. They look at each other, then Henry pulls out the key and opens the chest.

"Please don't let it be cannonballs," Jasper says under his breath.

But Henry opens it and it is, in fact, a buttload of cannonballs. That's sad. They don't even make good paperweights.

The guys unload the chest, each cannonball making a thud-clack sound as they hit the desk.

"It's too shallow," notices Henry.

As they go faster, the secretary (Wait, does she have a name? Eh, I don't care.) and her two goons silently enter the room, and that Marked-One feeling is multiplied by three. My stomach's roaring up a storm. I feel like an angry rottweiler on a very short leash.

"Um, guys?" I warn uselessly.

"Please don't be more cannonballs!" Jasper pleads as he and Henry lift the false-cannonball bottom.

They chuckle in astonishment when they see that the bottom of the box is filled with lots of wet gold coins. The guys pick up handfuls of the stuff, and then Henry sees the writing on the inside of the box lid.

"Property of the U.S. Government." he says.

"That's a matter of opinion," says the secretary. Why didn't she sneak-attack him? Or hold Jasper hostage? Or have her men shoot them? Her theatricality will surely be the end of her.

"Julian had no interest in his father's eccentric wanderings, but I am grateful for his interest in rare bird toxins." she confesses, "I knew you'd come back here.; all we had to do was wait."

"I trusted you," Henry's voice is filling with rage. "_Dante_ trusted – "

"Not enough to share the spoils," Her tone is getting venomous as well. "You're just like your godfather, Henry: impetuous, undisciplined, and shortsighted to the point of stupidity." Well, I have to admit she's got a point there. "Now open up the fireplace and get back down the stairs, both of you."

"Better do what she says," Jasper says as he looks to his cousin. I'm kinda hoping they do, because I'd really rather that Henry didn't die. And I wouldn't like it if Jasper was killed, too.

Then they each whip a cannonball at the stupid henchmen, and they fall to the ground with two loud thumps. Can I kick them in the ribs? Smash their noses? I settle for crushing Henchman #2's little finger under my heel. That's not _too_ interfering, is it?

Evil Bitch goes all crouching-tiger on Henry, and he's able to handle it pretty well.

Henry throws her to the ground, then jumps over a gun and kicks the goon going after it in a totally slow-mo-worthy fashion. As that guy falls to the floor again, Bitch springs up, ready for more ass-kicking. Henry obliges.

Jasper, who's been hiding behind furniture this whole time, finally notices the gun a few feet in front of him. Henchman #2 sees it too, but Jasper manages to shove him away with a wooden chair.

Now Henry is fighting both Evil Bitch _and_ Henchman #1, while Jasper is keeping the other henchman away by wielding that light wooden chair like a lion tamer. If I wasn't so worried about them, I'd probably be laughing.

Okay, I don't feel like laughing anymore: Jasper just got pushed to the ground, and Henchman #2 is about to point the gun at him. I'm _this_ close to doing something when Henry sails over a table and kicks the guy through the glass door.

Henry and Ninja Bitch move their fight out onto the balcony-bridge-whatever-the-hell-it-is. I follow them out, still keeping an eye on Jasper.

Dude, seriously: this job is WHACK. The Alphas were super-specific about interfering as little as possible, and since Henry isn't losing, I still can't do much. Instead, I have to watch him fight people who want to kill him for money.

Jasper comes running out, and Henchman #1 follows him. As the goon passes Henry, Monkey Boy shoves him with his elbow, and I seize the opportunity to "help" him fall over the ledge. Unfortunately, the guy doesn't fall as far he should and hits a escarpment. At least his leg is broken, though.

As I turn my attention away from the crippled criminal and back to the boys, Evil Bitch is ready to shoot a no-doubt poisoned dart at them with her stupid little blowgun.

"Hen, look out!" Jasper warns.

Henry catches the dart in midair. No, really. He effing _catches _it just before it can puncture Jasper in the neck.

"Nice timing," Bitch says as she loads another dart into the blowgun, "Too bad you and your friend weren't around to save Dante."

"We're not friends: we're family." Henry states, still holding the dart, "And_ this _is karmic payback." Then he whips that bitch like a fastball, the poisonous pointy end lodging in the shamelessly awful woman's neck. Hell, yeah!

I grin as I watch her sink to the ground.

Henry starts walking to her, Jasper following behind him. "Dante crossed the Sahara solo on a camel. He unearthed a 5,000-year-old wheel in Slovenia. He found that submarine; he was a legend. He was my hero." He stops, his eyes never leaving her writhing, pain-ridden body. "That's who you killed for money."

Her pain seems to worsen as she whimpers more loudly.

"What, are you just gonna let her die?" Jasper asks.

Oh please, Henry? Oh pretty pretty _please?_

"We catch, but do not kill." is his answer. Psh. Maybe _you_ don't. But I have to respect his decision: mercy is actually a really wonderful thing.

Henry takes out a plastic tube with a centipede in it, then he takes the bug out of the tube. "Courtesy of the Division of Centipedes." They have a division for that? "The pain is temporary, but excruciating."

Well, I can definitely get on board with _that_. She starts freaking out a lot when he slowly moves it to her face.

The guys are too busy with saving (ugh) the secretary, so they don't notice that Henchman #2 is stirring. I walk over to where he's laying in the broken glass, and quickly rabbit-kick him in the head when Bitch is screaming her lungs out because of the centipede poison.

"So you seriously hadn't bumped into her at all?"

Carl and I are invisible (duh) and waiting just outside the dean's office. Henry and Jasper are getting either punished or rewarded. Doesn't matter to me either way, so long as they're safe now.

"Honest! I was never assigned to clean in the Tesla building, and I've only been in D.C. a day longer than you!" Carl's pouting like he's realized he's done something horrible.

"Dude, it's fine." I say reassuringly, "Actually, it worked out better this way. Henry needed to know the truth about her."

As he nods, I see a certain icy brunette coming down the hallway. I must be staring, because Carl turns to look at her, too.

"Wow, she's _pretty_!" he says appreciatively.

"I guess so," I mutter.

We have to move because she wants to stand where we are. Carl doesn't mind at all, and smiles at her the entire time we shift over to the opposite side of the door frame.

"Is she friends with Henry and Jasper?" Carl asks.

"She's their classmate."

He gives me a mischievous grin. "You like her."

How dare he! "I do not!"

"Yes you do! You _like_ her."

What the hell? "Why are you so sure?"

"Because your pupils dilated a lot when you saw her. That's what Virva says happens to my eyes when I see Evolet."

Evolet is the Gorgon he has a major crush on. He always looks forward to watching her fight at the Golden Underground.

"That's not proof."

"Whatever you say."

Then, mercifully, Henry and Jasper come out of the office.

"Well if it isn't the anonymous duo," Maggie says coolly.

Jasper turns around. "Excuse me?"

"Don't bother denying it; don't worry, I won't narc you out." Her hips kind of swing as she slowly approaches the guys. "And F_Y_I, I'm having balsamic spaghetti squash with goat cheese for dinner."

"That sounds awesome," Jasper says with a smile.

"When should we come over?" asks Henry.

"My parents don't allow strays in the house," she answers matter-of-factly as she walks past them down the hall. "Sorry."

Okay, fine, so maybe I do kinda like her just a little bit, even if she _is_ mean to Henry.

Ah, finally. No more ninjas or submarines or poison darts: just a few uneventful hours down in the DOUM rooms.

Henry is click-clicking on the computer, a pen tucked behind his ear. He takes a folder, scans it, and moves on to the next one. How wonderfully boring!

And now he's reading the contents of one of them. It's a card written in Spanish, and it's something about a rock that grows. Not sure what that means, but the lady's dog went missing after it found the rock, so that can't be good.

"No, Señora, I have not," Henry says to himself as he takes a box from the mail cart and carries it to his workspace, "Not yet," I think he really needs to work on this whole talking-to-himself thing.

The box is set down on the light-up table, and when Henry cracks open the lid, the box shakes. Okay, I think it's time to put it away now.

"Everything okay in here?" His boss, Broxton, says from the stairs.

"I'm chill," Henry says shakily, his hands holding the box tightly.

"Super," the boss shrugs, "Carry on, then."

When he leaves, Henry tries to open the box again, and it bucks like there's an angry cat in there. He closes it and quickly hooks all the latches. Then he goes for the phone.

"Jasper!" He greets warmly, "'Sup, Cuz?"

Because he truly is an idiot, he tells Jasper to come down to the DOUM rooms because he's got something cool to show him.

"Oh, hell no!" He just survived this last adventure; I'm not letting him go through another one so soon. When he leaves his work station to let Jasper in, I make the box invisible and take it into the fenced area with all the shelves. I cram it between two other boxes, move some other stuff in front of it, and pray to whatever god is listening that Henry never finds it.


	4. Ward

This is one of those little "in-between" things I mentioned earlier. Enjoy!

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><p>Certain things Immortals just know: like who the Marked Ones are, who the Infernals are, who the Rebels are, and who the good Immortals are. The vibe is always unmistakable; you know who to trust and who to attack.<p>

The fifth kind is one of the best feelings an Immortal can have: the Almosts. They are the mortal children who've reached puberty, and they are destined to one day become Immortals. They're completely unaware of being special; they remain totally mortal until they Turn.

An Immortal is "assigned by fate" to be an Elder, to watch over their Ward after finding them, then for 150 years after they've Turned. That final and most celebrated kind is the realization that you have a new Ward.

When you get a new Ward, whether it's when they're still an Almost or after they've Turned, it's a lot like finding out you're a father. I know for a fact that that's an accurate comparison because I have had a Ward before and I've also been a father.

First of all, you never really see it coming. Like, ever. One moment you're only worried about your own needs, and the next you've got a brand new bundle of responsibility that would be absolutely lost without you. No matter how much it scares you, no matter how ill-equipped and unprepared you feel, you can't try to hand them over to someone else. No matter how much they inconvenience you or aggravate you, you can't abandon them.

I know that makes it sound like an obligation. It is, but not necessarily in the ugh-I-can't-believe-I-have-to-do-this sort of way. You do it because it's the right thing – the selfless thing – to do. It's not about looking good or proving anything to anyone. It's about picking them up when they're at their most vulnerable and guiding them down the right path, because you can't help but care about them.

The first time I felt it was in 1741. Even as an ignorant young man, Jensen had a good head on his shoulders. I still call him "little brother" whenever I see him at the Golden Underground. Yep, I was very happy with my first Ward.

I wonder what I'll think of my second one.

If I hadn't hidden the growing rock Henry found on Friday, he'd probably be balls-deep in another adventure right now. Instead, he's fighting to stay awake through a boring-ass lecture on DNA replication. Yuck.

So I'm roaming the halls, mostly because I'm bored. It's peaceful, even though I have to deal with some wicked-strong flashbacks every few minutes. They're not bad; they're just intense, probably because the halls don't look much different than they did in 1952.

I walk past my old locker and remember opening it: pictures of gorgeous dames like Betty Grable, Julie London, Rita Hayworth, and Marilyn Monroe taped to the inside of the door, my textbooks neatly stacked on the shelf. I pass certain rooms and remember the classes I attended and the teachers who made me their pet.

Then I see one room in particular; it's to the right of a water fountain and across the hall from a janitor's closet. That's where I had Trigonometry class with Dr. Pemberton. He was thirty-something and funny and cared about his students, and also one of the few who seemed to see through my Clark Kent-inspired façade. I think he had a thing for my mom.

Well, she wasn't actually my mom, she was my adopted mortal daughter who by that time looked old enough to be my mom so we... kinda let the roles reverse. At least when we were in public. She got a real kick out of fussing over me like the overprotective parent I usually was to her.

Anyway, the door's open. Not a lot, but enough for me to squeeze through.

A flashback hits hard once I enter the room, and I have to suffer through five seconds of a math lecture all over again. When I snap out of it I see that the room has a similar layout to what I remember, and I think the teacher's desk may even be the same.

Dr. Stern-And-Humorless is droning on about _The Great Gatsby_. Ugh. These poor, poor children. I'm almost tempted to get them out of class, like maybe by triggering the sprinkler system.

I saunter around the perimeter of the room. Half of them look like they're asleep, a few are doodling in their notebooks, a couple are texting, and one geek is reading a comic book hidden under the desk. I don't blame them. The lecture totally sucks.

When I reach the back I turn the corner, walking at a leisurely pace with my hands in my pockets. I almost have the urge to whistle tunelessly. There's a guy in the back seat of the middle row, so fast asleep that I'm surprised the teacher hasn't noticed. I'm fairly sure he's a jock.

I'm three steps away from him when I find myself stopping dead. I feel it: that warm, comfortable, familiar feeling, the kind I get when I'm around other Immortals. This feeling is much fainter though, like being stroked with a down feather. But that's not all.

There's this sudden, unshakeable, _unmistakable _feeling of responsibility, like I'm being trusted with something important. Something great and terrifying and joyous and bone-crushingly burdensome. I'm scared but mostly just happy and very, very worried.

This kid in front of me is not only an Almost, but also my new Ward.

I get two steps closer.

He looks pretty normal, I guess, but also like he'd fit in at the Golden Underground. By that I mostly mean he's good-looking, like every Immortal I've ever met. He's got short, coal-black hair like mine, and his skin's a little darker than mine (that's not saying much: I'm so pale I almost glow). And like I said before: I'm fairly sure he's a jock. Built like a football player. He's probably a few inches taller than me, maybe six feet, which makes it much more likely he'll be a flesh-eater, rather than a blood-drinker like me. That means he'll be something that actually morphs, like a Sphinx or a Gryphon or a Werewolf or a Phoenix... Oh, please don't let him be a Phoenix. They have seriously messy Turnings. The Burning of Rome in 64. A.D., the Great Fire of London in 1666, the Great Chicago Fire of 1871... yeah. Hate to add the D.C. Fire of Whenever to the list.

"I like Phoenixes, but I'd rather you weren't one." I say uselessly to his unconscious form.

You know, he really shouldn't sleep in class. He could get in trouble. So could everyone else sleeping, but he's my new Ward, so I should help him out.

I shake his shoulder, and when he starts I back up a bit. He looks around dazedly for a moment, then at the guy to his right. He must think the guy woke him up, but then he frowns when he realizes he's out cold.

One minute is left before the bell rings, and the teacher finally pays attention to her captive-but-not-captivated audience. The sleepers get a bad scolding and detention. My Ward sighs in relief, happy to escape punishment. He stands up and picks up his letterman jacket off the floor by his desk and puts it on. The back says "O'Herlihy".

Well, O'Herlihy, it was nice to meet you.

Welcome to the family.

* * *

><p>Review please! Even if it's not praise. Is the story stupid? Too long, maybe? Is there not enough of Henry, Jasper, and Maggie? Let me know so I can make it better.<p> 


	5. We Have a Problem

October 18, 2010

I've been so preoccupied with keeping Henry alive that the only time I've been eating is at night. I have plenty of time then, since I only need two hours for a full rest and the guys lie motionless for almost eight hours. But I've also been reluctant to stray too far, so that means I've been restricted to occasionally raiding the Bartlett's kitchen and to hunting the animals in the neighborhood and at the National Museum Complex. That doesn't include any pets; Fido and Mittens are safe from my ravenous maw. I mean the squirrels and raccoons and rabbits and stuff like that. Except for songbirds, since they don't have much on them anyway. So for the twenty-one days I've been in D.C., I've all but exterminated both this street's and the Museum's squirrel population. I hope no one notices their absence. Or worse, their tiny mangled remains.

Okay, so I may be focusing on a minor problem because of all the other stuff going on. There's this whole thing with my Ward, Hunter O'Herlihy, but I seriously don't even want to think about that issue right now. I'll wait and deal with him when the time comes, and I'm not actually fully responsible for him yet anyway. No, he's not the biggest worry at the moment. As always, it's Henry. Well, Henry and Maggie.

So for the past three weeks Henry, Jasper, and Maggie have sort of become a trio. It's like Henry has a gravitational force that sucked them in. At first Maggie made it seem like she only hung around because she couldn't stand to see Henry struggle so much with schoolwork, but now they've got to the point where it's a bit more like hanging out than strictly studying. I thought Jasper would be anxious about it, but he's been encouraging Henry to continue to be friendly to Maggie. Jasper obviously enjoys having an excuse to be close to her. For the first few days I was afraid she liked Henry, but really she's just been too platonic to make that a viable worry. And once I figured out she doesn't actually have other friends, I just couldn't justify any concern.

Until today.

Today is a parent conference day, meaning the kids have no school. But because Maggie is, well, Maggie, she convinced them they should study together for the biology test on Thursday, just three days from now. We were all in the living room, and the kids were sitting on the couch, drilling each other on parts of the cell and what they do. After an hour of that, Henry smiled at Maggie and told her he really appreciated her help. At first she didn't seem particularly moved and only said it was no problem. But then, when both of the boys had their noses buried in their textbooks, I saw it: that smile. That warm, dreamy smile accompanied by a faint blush, and it was directed at Henry. It was fleeting but dammit, I know what I saw. Ms. Winnock is much better at hiding her feelings than anyone probably realizes. It may be new and only just budding, but Maggie has a crush on Henry.

I was freaking out about it, even though it wasn't exactly DEFCON 1. It doesn't matter that she's clearly going to try to resist falling for him; the point is that she could, and Henry could _totally_ reciprocate, considering how awesome she is (objectively speaking). So I called Carl and told him about it, and when he asked what we should do, I said we had to call the Alphas, who would instruct us on what to do according to the situation. Carl insisted that he make the call and explain everything, and he'd tell me what they said.

So I waited. An hour later the Alpha in charge of taking Watcher calls this month contacted _me_, even though Carl was the one who talked to him. At first I assumed it was because I'm the Primary, but it made more sense after he gave me my orders. And boy, it really wasn't what I had expected.

"Are... are you sure that's the best plan? Why can't we just get a Vampire to convince her parents they should move far away?"

"And uproot them like that?" asked Anaxagoras. "That'd be a cruel thing to do, especially when we'd be depriving such an ambitious young woman of the best high school in the country."

"Well then why can't I sabotage Henry and Maggie's relationship instead?

He chuckles patronizingly. "That could backfire too easily. Anyway, Henry will need more than Jasper if he's to survive high school. Maggie makes a good friend and tutor."

Uh-oh. I'm running out of options. "How about I try to get Jasper and Maggie together?"

He wasn't making a sound, but I thought I could hear him smiling. "I'm sure he's a nice boy, but he's just not a strong alternate option, considering his competition would be Henry."

"There are plenty of other boys in school – "

"And I'm sure none of them have your impressive track record with women."

"It's not _that_ good – "

"Oh? Has there ever been a woman you wanted that didn't want you back?"

"Well... I... well, no, but considering that I'm 538 years old I really haven't been with very many."

"Quality over quantity, dear boy." Man, I could really hear a smirk in his voice. "And Carl mentioned your little infatuation with this girl, so stop trying to deny the green light we're giving you."

I was glad he couldn't see that I was blushing. "Wouldn't getting a Vampire to tell her not to crush on him be simpler?"

"Of course it would. But this is far more fun." The Alpha Vampire really seemed to be enjoying himself. "Arrangements will be made concerning your mortal identity and Helle will come by to issue your memory implants the first week of November. Until then, just keep an eye on things. But whether it gets worse, better, or stays the same, You will be talking to Ms. Winnock beginning next month. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Sir." I said, doing my best not to sound disgruntled.

By the way, I took that call while I was in the living room with the kids. I'm still here, watching them joke and laugh and memorize stuff about DNA. And I have to admit I'm watching Maggie especially.

Should I have said anything? I promise I had no idea the Alphas would order this, or that she would be considered such a great threat. If Carl – silly, childish Carl – hadn't made the call, this wouldn't have happened. But what if I ignored the signs? It would be so much meaner to split them up after they've fallen for each other. Maybe this is some sort of mercy.

As for my role in all this, what exactly am I supposed to do? Tell her I'm a vegetarian with a 4.0 GPA? I won't lie to her; not any more than I'll already need to. Every Immortal knows that the best lies are the ones closest to the truth. If she can't like me for the carnivore I am, then I'm SOL. The Vampire mind-trick will have to be the contingency plan.

So anyway, I'm having a really, really difficult time knowing how I feel about all this. But I'll do as I'm told.

* * *

><p>Thank you, Cat of Flames! Your request inspired this plot-point. I hope this is enough HenryMaggie for you, because I needed something subtle.

And thanks to everyone who reads this! Your support is appreciated.


	6. The Griffin Gang: Part 1

I love this series, but really, it's hard not to notice the flaws while I'm writing this story.

First of all, Jasper says it's the 150th anniversary of the Pony Express. That's plausible—year-wise, anyway. According to all the sources I've checked, the Pony Express began April of 1860 (and according to one site, it was specifically April 3rd). "The Griffin Gang" takes place in 2010, sure, but in _April_? No way. Henry is at Smithson for (possibly roughly) six months of the school year by episode 12. The Pony Express officially ended on October 24 (also taken from the same specific site), which works with the UH time frame nicely, but it was October of 1861. So Jasper couldn't be referring to the anniversary of the end of the Pony Express, at least not the 150th one. To make everything technically correct, it'd have to be the 149th anniversary of the end of the Pony Express. This, of course, is stupid. So let's just say that it's the year-wise anniversary, and the advantage Jasper refers to comes from the exhibit being scheduled on the day the Express ended.

Secondly, the episode begins _en media res_ with Henry trying to get the vaccine at the Army Medical Repository, and just as he's about to be tased, it smash cuts to the Bartlett house, _72 Hours Earlier _(Three days). We can assume it's seven o'clock, since they're eating breakfast and Jasper has to prepare for an exhibit at noon. By noon of that same day, kids are getting infected with bat fever that kills in _24_ _hours. _The next day at what is likely 11:30, Henry is in the AMR. The time lapsed in the episode couldn't have been more than 30 hours by this scene, and the entire episode is only a little more than two days. So were the people writing this episode really bad with numbers, or were they just not paying attention?

Sorry, last thing. Georgetown Park is a shopping mall and condominium complex, not an actual park. And there is no real park or Catholic church anywhere near it, so I've had to twist some words around.

I know this is all silly details, but dissecting this stuff is half the fun.

* * *

><p>Henry's making breakfast! It's... well, it's food at least. Uncle Bryan and Jasper might not appreciate what Henry made, but as for me... I've eaten worse. Much worse. You know, like road kill. And revolting (yet surprisingly delicious) Infernals. And fresh blood from live (evil) people. So yeah, I'm not exactly sweating the grubs. Or even the bull testicles, unless of course I was in the presence of a Minotaur. <em>That <em>would be a little awkward.

"Howdy, partners!" Henry greets as his uncle and cousin enter the kitchen.

Mr. Bartlett looks surprised at all the food on the table. "Did you cook all of this?"

"Yep. A traditional cowboy breakfast in honor of Jasper's Pony Express exhibit."

They all take a seat at the table. I watch from the island, half hoping they'll like the food but mostly eager to see their reactions when they find out what's actually on their plates.

"Thanks, Hen, but you didn't have to do all this." Jasper says as he sets his backpack by his chair.

"Sure I do. The museum only hosts one student-led exhibit a year; and yours is the one they picked." Henry replies with a smile.

"Well, it's the 150th anniversary of the Pony Express. It was kind of a slam-dunk proposal." Jasper takes his napkin from his plate and places it in his lap.

"Took a lot of initiative on your part. By the way, as I'm sure you're aware, colleges notice these things." says Mr. Bartlett.

"Colleges," A smirk tugs at the corner of Jasper's mouth. "I had no idea."

Uncle Bryan picks up his silverware. "This smells delicious, Henry."

Heeheehee. Wait 'till he tastes it.

"Thanks. I used to cook for the jackeroos in the Outback."

"Jackeroos?" asks Jasper.

"You know, Australian cattle ranchers? Cowboys." he answers as gets up and grabs the pitcher of orange juice from the island. I hurriedly scoot out of his way as he does so.

Ah! Jasper took a bite of the grubs and didn't gag! Yes, chew! Chew, you ignorant bastard!

"Potatoes. Yum." he says with a mouthful of grubs. Then he finally notices that the texture isn't quite right.

"Please tell me these are home fries." Jasper asks hopefully as Henry pours everyone a glass of orange juice.

"Well, they were fried at home." That they were, Captain Half-Truth. "They're witchetty grubs."

Doe-Eyes looks ready to spew them out. "Grubs?"

"Longhorn beetle larvae." Henry expounds. Disgusted, Jasper spits the masticated baby bugs into his napkin. "They were a big hit with the ranchers."

"Mm. Well, these dumplings are delicious." Oh, Mr. Bartlett. Those aren't dumplings.

"That's cowboy caviar." Henry finishes pouring his orange juice. "I think here in the states they call them Rocky Mountain oysters."

With much more discretion than his son, Uncle Bryan spits his mouthful of bull's ball into his napkin as Henry leaves the kitchen.

"You culinary pussies!" I vituperate, my mouth full of cowboy caviar.

Then Henry comes back into the kitchen playing a freaking didgeridoo. I think it's impressive – you have to breathe in and out at the same time in order to play one of those.

"What is that thing?" Jasper asks over the trippy music.

Henry stops. "A didgeridoo. I figured out how I can help with your exhibit; I'll provide the background music."

Jasper and his father share a furtive glance as Henry starts playing again.

"Henry, th-that's not exactly an instrument from the Old West. So I really – I would just rather if you didgeri... don't." Annoyed, Jasper grabs his backpack. "I gotta go." He tells his dad before rising from his seat.

Crestfallen, Henry self-consciously holds the instrument as he watches his cousin leave the room. He sets it in his lap when he sits down at the table.

"Henry, I know your heart's in the right place, but," Uncle Bryan's expression is sympathetic. "You and Jasper have different ways of doing things. So, uh, to keep his spirits up and his stress level down, you might want to let him finish his project his way."

"I was just trying to help."  
>"Oh, I know, I know. And he appreciates it, but, just consider doing it in a way that's a little more... quiet."<p>

Henry gives him an understanding and apologetic look.

"Well, thanks for this, but I'm running a little late."

And with that, Uncle Bryan leaves the table, the rest of his gross Australian food uneaten. As Henry cleans up I sneak morsels here and there, which is okay since it's kind of like helping.

"Where's the smile? I need the smile." Jasper asks coaxingly as Henry poses for his picture. Still trying to help, Henry has dressed up as a cowboy who doesn't mind having his retinas seared by camera flash. Oh, and Maggie's right next to him dressed as a saloon whore. She actually looks really pretty, in an Old West harlot kind of way. And based on her truculent expression, she'd be the kind of strumpet who'd mug you once your britches were down.

"Come on, guys, are you gonna help me or not?" Bambi-Boy pleads. "Please? I really need this."

Resignedly, Henry and Maggie share a look before smiling for the camera. They're each wearing a set of embarrassing prop teeth that look like they came from the mouth of an inbred hick.

"Perfect! Yes!" The camera starts to go off, Jasper grinning happily. "Oh, that is beautiful! That is... actually really gross, but beautiful!"

Henry and Maggie still don't say anything.

"Oh, come on!" Jasper wheedles, "You know how bad dental care was in the Old West. You want it to be historically accurate, don't you?"

Jerk. If he wanted it to be accurate, then Henry would look dirtier and Maggie would have herpes and syphilis. As a passive-aggressive overreaction, I spit in his coffee.

Maggie has had enough. She spits out her awful fake teeth. "No, I want to get out of this dress." She walks over to Jasper. "And you promised that you would help me study for my lab exam."

"This is way bigger than organic chemistry." he argues.

"Jasper, helping you has left a bad taste in my mouth." His coffee splashes as she drops her teeth into the cup. "Much better."

"Go Ice Bitch!" I cheer with approval as she walks off victoriously.

Ha ha, now Jasper has the spit of _two _other people in his cup! No way he's gonna drink it with used hick teeth bobbing around in—Ew! He's drinking it! I don't know whether to be disgusted or impressed.

"You seem a little stressed." Henry remarks, the fake teeth still in his mouth. Then he takes them out. "Want me to take over for a while?"

"Nope. Thanks, got it covered, Henry." I think that coffee is kicking in.

"Hey, Jasper," calls a girl by the map mural.

He strides over to her. "Yeah,"

"Doesn't Holly's horse look so realistic?" Holly being her twin sister.

"Really? You think so?" Holly asks, simpering.

Not-Holly puts a hand on her arm. "You should totally go to Art College."

"What is that?" questions Jasper, looking at a buffalo drawn on the mural.

"A buffalo," answers Not-Holly.

"Am I the only one who thinks it looks like a chicken nugget?"

Aw, it does look like a chicken nugget! Now I'm thinking of it being speared with tooth picks thrown by french-fry Indians. Its ketchup blood starts oozing out, which makes me wonder if ketchup-filled chicken nuggets are a good idea—

"No worries," says Not-Holly. "We'll fix it."

"Thank you," Jasper replies quietly as Henry starts to lead him away.

"Maybe you should ditch the coffee and try some Japa meditation. It would help you relax."

"No thanks; meditation will not get me into Yale."

The guys stop walking.

"What's Yale got to do with it?"

"Why do you think I'm holding this exhibit?"

"You're a sophomore; Yale's still a few years off." Henry argues as Jasper starts walking again.

"Wrong. Yale is in the building. I—" Jasper halts when he notices some geek distracted from his work by the twin girls. "Hey, Kelvin," he smacks him in the arm, startling him. "Paint now, peep later."  
>"Dr. Charles Wincott is touring the school," Jasper continues to walk around the unfinished exhibit, observing everyone's work. Henry and I are following him. "He's the head of Yale's admission board. And when he sees the awesomeness of my exhibit, he will know that I am Yale material. Of course, the awesomeness could use the infusion of more awesome." Suddenly he sees someone he needs to boss around.<p>

"Oh, Zane! Hang on, hold on." Zane places the sign holder firmly on the ground. "Ah, okay."

"Hey, you're Jasper's cousin, right?" asks Zane as he picks up the wooden sign.

"Henry," he specifies.

"Is it true you grew up in a hut made of cow patties?" Zane inquires as all three guys hoist the sign up on to the holder.

"Elephant dung," Henry corrects. "It kept the place surprisingly cool."

"Amazing smell, isn't it?" says Zane with a smile.

Henry casts an unsure glance at Jasper before replying. "Elephant dung?"

"Cow patties! Ah, I miss it." Ew.

There's about a half second of awkwardness before Jasper speaks. "Zane's from Tulsa. He's actually the one who got me turned on to the Old West. If it wasn't obvious already, he is a real cowboy."

I still think he's a weirdo.

"You know Jasper," Zane begins, "I wish I had your focus when I was a sophomore."

"Yeah?" Jasper replies.

"I wouldn't be racing against time to pad my resume for college."

"Well," Jasper starts, looking flattered. Then he remembers something. "Oh, that reminds me! My dad is bringing Dr. Wincott to the exhibit in..." Spazzy checks his phone anxiously. "Five minutes. Okay, uh, I cannot let Dr. Wincott see the exhibit like this. Everybody, just, um, j-just try and move the junk. ASAP. Please, j-just get the exhibit prepared."

"I know how we can save some time." says Henry, his Zen attitude only making Jasper's spaziness more pronounced.

"You do?" he asks.

"You wanna see?"

"Yes, I do."

Henry has talked Jasper into trying to balance a paint can on his head. It's just a little one, but I'm not sure Jasper will be able to make it down the hall without something hilarious happening. Henry's got a whole bunch stacked on his head, and he's making it look easy.

"A little trick I learned in Kenya." he says. "Did you know the Kikuyu women can transport up to seventy percent of their body weight on their heads?" He slowly turns to see how Jasper's doing. "Huh, look at that! You're a natural."

Jasper smiles as he turns the corner. I see the can wobbling, so I decide to poke it gently to get it to even out. My phone rings just as I touch it, startling me into poking a little too hard.

The paint can slides off his head and splatters red paint everywhere... including this black guy in a business suit. The red paint splashed across his torso makes him look like a victim in a slasher movie.

"Oops," I mutter as I hit "ignore" on my iPhone.

Henry puts down his numerous paint cans and walks over to Jasper, the black guy, and Mr. Bartlett.

"Please," begs Jasper, "Please tell me that's not..." he closes his eyes, too afraid to finish his sentence.

His cousin wipes the paint off of Black Guy's visitor pass with his thumb:

Charles Wincott PH.D

Yale University

Oh, dammit. That's not good.

"Well, you're always telling me to use my head." Jasper says to his father, trying to hide his mortification.

"This is my fault," says Henry. "I was trying to show Jasper how they transfer goods in the Kiambu District—"

"Kiambu?" Dr. Wincott asks, intrigued and distracted from his paint-covered suit. "Kenya?"

"Yeah," replies Henry, "I lived there for a while with my parents."

"Are you Henry Griffin?" questions Wincott. Jasper looks as confused as I feel. "Pleasure to meet you."  
>"It is?"<p>

"Your parents' fieldwork has made a great contribution to our university's collections. In fact, our zoology department still has the flying lemur you rescued from that nest of fire ants."

"Oh, well, uh..." Then Henry notices Jasper, just barely keeping his annoyance contained. "That story got blown way out of proportion. This," He gestures to Jasper, "is the guy you want to meet."

Wincott ignores Jasper and keeps talking to Henry. "No, we love that real-world experience at Yale. Have you considered where you're going after graduation?"

Henry thinks for a second. "Tasmania, I'm thinking."

"He means college, Henry." says Uncle Bryan.

Poor Jasper tries to redeem himself again. "Well I don't know about him, but my choice has always been Yale—"

"When you're ready to think about it, I hope you keep Yale in mind." Ouch! Wincott cut him off _and_ ignored him.

Mean Admissions Guy extends his hand for Henry to shake, but Jasper's not giving up yet.

"Well, it's been an honor meeting you, Sir." he says as he shakes the man's hand with both of his, sounding like a total kiss-ass. "Just an honor..." Jasper takes his hands away and sees the red paint he unwittingly coated on Wincott's hand.

Mr. Bartlett to the rescue! "Well, uh, let's get you cleaned up, shall we?" he says to Wincott as he passes him a handkerchief and leads him away.

As they walk off, Jasper turns to Henry, so irritated he can't even form words.

"Jasper, if Yale doesn't want you, that's their loss." I doubt that will cheer him up, Henry. "You can always come with me to Mongolia or Borneo or—"

"Henry," Jasper finally finds his voice. "That's your dream, not mine." Exasperated, he turns to leave.

"I was just trying to help."

"Look, if you wanna help, just leave me alone. And let me do it my way, please?" And with that, Jasper walks off down the hall, making unintelligible, frustrated noises.

"Aw come on, man!" I yell encouragingly, knowing there's not really any point of me talking. "They won't want him at Yale once they see his grades!"

As Henry walks off, looking all dejected and sad, I call back the person who made me knock the can off of Jazzy's head.

"Virva, what is it?" I ask, trying not to be mad at her.

"I need you to hand the reins over to Carl for a while and meet me out front. There's someone I need you to meet."

"Who?"

"Daisy. She's the Immortal who runs the Immortal-owned flower shop in D.C."

"Wait, there's another Immortal living in this city and you didn't tell me about her?"

"I'm telling you now, aren't I? Now turn visible and hurry up."

My phone beeps twice, meaning she's hung up.

After a quick text to Carl telling him to keep an ear out for the kids, I head out to meet Virva.

It feels funny to be visible right now. Since I've gotten here I've hardly shown myself. What's it been, two times? And for no more than a couple minutes? I've only seen Carl while visible. So walking around in the museum when everyone can see me is... disquieting. Like I'm naked or something.

There they are, sitting on a bench. I really wish Virva had told me earlier that there was a fourth Immortal living in D.C. Did she think I'd just meet her on my own? Why meet her now? And why have Carl take his very first shift in order for me to meet her?

Upon hearing my footsteps, they turn simultaneously. Both blondes, both pretty – both Nymphs. As it is with just about every Immortal, I've seen her at the Golden Underground. Miss Gertrude "Daisy" Poirier.

And she looks appalled for some reason.

"Hello," I say.

Her eyebrows are raised, her mouth is hanging open. Virva is smirking as if enjoying some joke.

Daisy shakes her head, snapping out of her trance. Then she stands up, smooths down the full lemon-yellow skirt of her dress, and holds out her lacy-gloved hand to me in a way that suggests I should kiss it.

"How do you do, Sir?"

Such a Southern Belle, right down to the accent.

"Very well, thank you." I take her hand and kiss it, and she sighs in relief.

"Well, thank goodness!" She looks at a still-smirking Virva. "At least he has some manners."

Huh?  
>"Virva, I know he's a Shroud, but my word, you didn't tell me he looks this bad!" She puts her prissy little hands on her hips, eying me up and down. Then she sweeps my hood off my head. "I mean look at his hair! Does he attack it with scissors? It's all uneven! And while he pulls off those grass-stained, ultra-ripped jeans and worn All-Stars quite nicely, his shirt and hoodie are torn up, no doubt from not wearing a leather jacket when he runs <em>like he's supposed to<em>. And please tell me he at least _owns_ a pair of sunglasses; those are just as important."

"I don't see why you should care—" I try to cut in, but she returns her gaze to me and just keeps talking.

"Really, at your age you should know to wear a leather jacket and sunglasses." Suddenly, Daisy gasps and puts a hand to her cheek. "Are those_ bullet holes_ in your hoodie? And _bloodstains _on your clothes?" she whispers. "My stars, you can't walk around like that!"

"I'm never visible—"

"Well I should hope not; you look like a runaway!" For a moment she examines me again, fanning herself and shaking her head. Then she looks to Virva again. "I find his state of slovenliness quite disgraceful, Virva. And while he's not a hopeless mess, I certainly have some work to do."  
>"Pardon me, Madame," I ask, getting pissed. "But what the hell are you talking about?"<p>

"Watch your tongue, boy." Her arms cross. "I know you've got a few hundred years on me, but I'm not afraid to wash your mouth out with soap. Y'all are lucky I happened to be livin' here same time old "fair hero" showed up—"

My eyes dart to Virva. "You told her?! Only Watchers and the Alphas are allowed to know—"

"Cool it, honey," she pulls aside the wide lemon-yellow strap of her dress. She has the Watcher tattoo. "I was one of the first."

Ah. "Where were you stationed?"

"Kalimantan."

I raise an eyebrow. "That's an awfully wild place for such a city Nymph." Then I realize people are able to hear us. "Wait, why are we talking out in the open? We should be invisible."

"Honey, we ain't goin' to say anything that'll get us in trouble. You worry too much. Ain't that right, Virva?"

Clearly enjoying seeing me so ruffled, she nods.

"Now," Daisy continues. "I'll definitely need to give you a haircut—"

"Why?!" I ask, exasperated. Why does she have to be all up in my business?  
>"I've been assigned to help you get presentable so you can win that girl over." she answers patiently. "And as far as that girl knows, you live with me."<p>

Oh, crap.

"That's..." Be nice, she's just doing her job. "Very generous of you."

She flashes a sweet smile. "Virva and I have already bought your clothes and ordered you a leather jacket from that Immortal-owned leather shop in Houston – they're waiting at my flower shop. Now let's go and make you over."

Double crap. "Thank you, Miss Daisy."

"Oh, and one more thing before we go." Daisy takes out a monogrammed hankie from her skirt pocket. She hooks some of it on her index finger and licks it. "That smudge on your chin has been driving me crazy."

I wince as she rubs at my face like a fussy mom.

She tucks her hankie back in her pocket and click-clicks off in her colorful, floral-print heels. I follow grudgingly behind her after shooting Virva a death glare.

We walked the whole damn way, probably as some kind of exercise to get me to care about how I look. It worked, let me tell you.

Elysian Fields Flower Shop. It's an old brick building on Northwest Pennsylvania Avenue that's been painted a vibrant emerald green, though it's hard to tell since it's covered in so much ivy. It's a little strange to see this lone, leafy building at the edge of Pershing Park. Nice view of The Willard Hotel, though.

There's a brief, gentle ringing from a small brass bell as we open the emerald-green French door.

Whoa. Nature rules this place. Every inch of the walls and ceiling is covered in ivy; some of it even ensnares the modest grapevine chandelier. Blue-and-white marble that looks like churning ocean water covers the floor. Two giant, wood-paneled refrigerators against the street-facing wall contain meticulously made bouquets; some only a few flowers big and one the size of a small shrub. Both in the center of the room and along the opposing, mostly windowed wall are big wooden barrels with dividers in them that hold at least fifty kinds of flowers. A massive, intricately carved oak counter with an old-fashioned register sits to the left of the door.

"You can take a Nymph out of the wild, but they'll just find a way to take it with them." I remark, paraphrasing the well-known Immortal apothegm as I place my backpack by the counter. "This is amazing."

"Thank you, sugar." She struts over to a pale-blue door, the paint artfully chipped and peeling. "Now come on through here."

… And I thought the front room was wild. This huge back room is a greenhouse, with three walls and the ceiling made of mosaic-patterned stained glass. The floor consists of a marble in a dark, rich brown, the color of nourishing soil. Hanging planters and terra-cotta pots in a variety of sizes hold even more different types of plants than the barrels in the front room. Many of them I recognize, but some...

"I have about a dozen or so plants that I've made myself." Daisy sashays over to a small bush, its roses white with red markings like trickles of blood. "These are Lover's Blood roses," Then she points to massive, foot-wide peonies. "And those are Pachyderm peonies."

I step carefully as I follow her into the greenhouse jungle. So much green, and so many colors. We approach an oddly colored Knock Out rosebush and Daisy gives it a wide birth. That's funny; the stems look coiled like springs. Curious and apparently stupid, I squint and put my face close to one of the vibrant blue blossoms. With lightning speed, it lashes out and I barely dodge it.

Daisy turns around, attempting to conceal her amusement.

"Sucker-punch roses. They pack a wallop if you invade their personal space."

"I see." As Daisy walks off I get close again, but not too close. "Stupid freaky-colored weeds." I mumble at them. In an instant every rose is trying to beat the crap out of me, so I dash away and catch up to Daisy.

We pass more flowers— rustling Rattlesnake roses, Sparkling forget-me-nots, synchronized swaying Co

ryphée orchids—and then we arrive at the far corner of the room.

Oh, gods. It's the scariest, most humongous Venus fly trap I've ever seen. Its teeth are maybe eighteen inches long, and it has blood dripping from its mouth. Who let that thing out of Tartarus ?

"What is that?"

Daisy smiles at it affectionately. "I've had him for a long time. His name is Beelzebub."

"Seriously?"

"It means 'lord of flies', so I thought it was perfect."

I slowly step behind her. "Uh-huh. Do you feed it small children?"

"Of course not! Just small animals." She pats it dulcetly and turns around. "Okie-dokie, dear, let's go to the backyard."

From what I could see from inside the greenhouse, the plants outside in the walled-off backyard are dormant due to the weather. There's a big, barren willow tree on the far side of the yard, in front of the dark wooden door in the farthest high brick wall. A hammock sits beneath it. Off in the far left-hand corner is a koi pond with a tiny waterfall. In the dead center of the yard is a sleeping wisteria tree with a cable running vertically through it, all the way up to several horizontal cables crisscrossing above the yard. Dormant bushes and small trees line the yard, and mounted above them on the high brick walls are scores of bird houses, bird feeders, and bird baths.

The small patio is a thin rectangle floored with big slate tiles. Only a few simple wicker chairs furnish it—along with a worn wooden desk to the far right, its drawers pulled most of the way out and made into planters. Behind grows a skinny, leafless tree with an ovular vanity mirror fitted neatly in it, as if it had been grown for the specific purpose of holding the looking glass.

"I assure you it's lovely when everything's in bloom, but I didn't want to coax them into that out of season. They need their rest."

"Understandable." I admit, trying to take it all in. I haven't been in such a nymphy place in decades. It's so welcoming—very easy to breathe here.

Daisy grabs a wicker chair and drags it to the desk. A pair of shiny metal scissors appears from her pocket. "Take off your hoodie and sit down, dear."

Oh, boy. A haircut.

I do as I'm told and she begins snipping away at my dark, unequal locks. The snippets threaten to get in my eyes, so I squeeze them shut. She pauses for a moment and I think she's done, but then I feel a powerful stream of water soaking my head.

"What are you doing?!"

"Getting the hair off of you, silly!" she explains with far too much joy in her voice.

The water finally stops, and my upper body is drenched. If I was able to get cold, I'd be shivering right now.

"Take that shirt off, give it to me, then go upstairs and take a shower. Your bag of clothes is on your bed."

With an angry pout, I peel my sopping shirt off and toss it at her.

Through the Junglehouse, through the front room—wave to the startled middle-aged women looking through the window—and through the baby-yellow door. Up the wooden spiral staircase to the apartment.

Holy floral print, Batman! Okay, so it's not _everywhere. _Thankfully the walls are white and wood-paneled. But the Martha-Stuart green china cabinet, the happy light-blue marble counter top, the wicker furniture with tiny-floral-print cushions, the jacquard-print chaise longue, the throw pillow with a hummingbird embroidered on it... put everything together, and it just screams nymphtastic and girly.

I snatch the soft pink throw from off the couch and quickly dry myself off, then put it back as if I hadn't touched it.

A wooden ladder leads to a lofty bedroom with only creamy-white curtains to hide it. At first I think it's mine, but then I notice a glass-knobbed, robin's-egg-blue door with _Dimitri's Room _painted in black cursive lettering. I'm sure my room will be just as unmanly.

Not looking forward to seeing the décor in my room, I go take a shower in the bathroom, which is completely covered in rubber duckies. The shower curtain, the bathmat, the towels, the wallpaper – oh look, there's even a rubber ducky in the shower. I entertain myself with its cute little squeaky noise as the water warms up. Once the water's ready, I get in and hope that the Bath and Body Works crap I'm forced to use doesn't make me smell like a girl.

When I'm finished, I wrap a towel around my waist, gather up my clothes, and go to my room.

Yep, this is pretty unmanly. It's so Laura Ashley/Martha Stuart. The walls are bisected with white molding, separating the upper, blue-and-cream damask wallpapered part from the lower, white wood-paneled part. There's a lovely mahogany dresser with glass knobs on the drawers and a large doily covering the top, as well as a lamp with a sage-green shade and ceramic tree-trunk base. The bed is covered in an absurdly cushy, blue floral-print duvet. Needless, decorative pillows (including one of those tootsie-roll looking ones) are piled at the head. The bed frame is all intricately curved metal rails in an ivory finish. In the corner by the bed is an elegant, off-white side table with curving legs and a deep drawer, complete with a lamp like the one on the dresser.

Jeez. I gotta get out of here before I grow a womb. That is, after I deal with the big paper shopping bag on my bed.

The first thing I see is the pair of Wayfarer shades. Daisy was right; an Immortal should wear shades in public in case they come in contact with a Marked one. The uncontrollable ocular reaction tends to scare people.  
>All the shirts are T-shirts, which is what I prefer. Five of the eleven are solid colors, and the other six... Oh dude this is so cool. There's a vintage Superman one, one with The Flash logo, a skull-and-cross-lightning-bolts "death proof" one, two <em>Doctor Who<em> T-shirts—one with the gas-mask boy saying, "Are you my mommy?" and the other with the TARDIS on it—and a black _Dexter_ one with the quote, "Blood never lies."

The shirts alone are enough to make up for the nut-kickingly girly room. But there're also three new zip-up hoodies; one a heather gray, one black, and one a blue that brings out my eyes. Also in the bag are four pairs of jeans, none of which have any holes, but I'm sure to change that. And almost last, my leather jacket.

It's so beautiful. After putting on my boxer-briefs, a new pair of jeans, my socks, and my shoes, I throw on my light-blue T-shirt so I can put on the jacket.

Fits like a glove. It's form-fitting yet easy to move around in. And it has a leather hood, which is great because I always like to have my hood up. The best part is the leather; it's the deepest, purest black, and it's smooth and broken in like it's twenty years old even though it's brand new. Hellhound hide. Wow. I've always wanted a jacket made of Infernal leather, but I usually stick to wearing the clothes that I corpse loot.

Huh. There're two six-packs of boxer-briefs in here. And they're black. How did they _know_? I don't want to dwell in it.

Oh, look, socks! I need socks.

There's also a black leather backpack, roomy and made of cow leather. I love it almost as much as my jacket, but I'm going to wait for my beat-up nylon one to fall apart completely before I use it.

I feel so spoiled now.

After putting my sunglasses on and my clothes away neatly, I head out of my room.

_Peep!_

What the...?

_Peep!_

The sound is coming from high up on the ladder leading to Daisy's room. It's a duckling.

It peeps again as it jumps down another rung on the ladder.

"Aw, you're so cute! Come here, ducky!"

It jumps several more rungs until we're eye-level. When I try to pick it up, it snaps at me, and for a second its eyes glow a bright, demonic red.

Oh. It's a Chimera. Of course.

The Chimera is one of the very, very few neutral monsters and behaviorally is more animal than actual monster. They choose to disguise themselves as harmless creatures, especially young. All I know about the breeding process is that it's difficult and time consuming, and that the breeders know how to manipulate the hatching Chimera's harmless form.

_Peep!_

This tiny, yellow ball of fluff in front of me can turn into a gargantuan beast with the head of a lion, a dragon, and a goat. And it spits acid. Yeah, it's not smart to piss this thing off.

Fluff the Destroyer hops the remaining steps and waddles towards the door. Then he looks over his shoulder at me before shuffling through his ducky door.

_Peep!_

So I follow after him and we head downstairs together.

The moment I open the door to the front room, he goes scurrying to Daisy. She scoops him up and snuggles him to her cheek, cooing.

I hoist myself up onto the wood counter. "Thanks for all that stuff. By the way, I met your Chimera."

She smiles. "You're welcome. And his name is Colonel Quack-Quack."

Of course it is.

Daisy sets the Colonel next to me on the counter so she can check me out. "You clean up wonderfully."

"I guess."

"Maggie won't be able to take her eyes off of you."

"Really?" I look at my new clothes. "I'm not sure I'm her type."

She starts to mess with my hair, using the dampness to style it. "The Alphas did their homework on her. If they're telling you to go after her, then she's probably going to like you."

"I still think there's a slim chance of that. She's kind of a snob. And really, we probably don't have enough in common. She's a vegetarian eco-fascist and I eat tons of meat and wear leather. Even if she notices me, she won't like me. This whole idea is a waste of time."

She sighs audibly. "Why aren't you happier about this?"

"About the Alphas pimping me out to a teenage girl? Gee, I don't know."

"I'm betting it's more than that. Virva said you were in the Cave when we all got the call for Mother's awakening."

I avoid her scrutinizing gaze.

"Now there're only a few reasons anyone ever chooses abeyance," she continues, "And that's if you're a few thousand years old and you need a break from living, or you're so torn up over something that you want time away from the pain..." Daisy stops fussing with my hair. "Or you have to wait for something and you don't want to do it patiently."

Eager to dodge the conversation, I hop off the counter and grab my bag. "Thanks for the makeover. I have to get back now."

She follows me to the door. "How long were you dormant?"

"Twenty-eight years."

I would've gone back afterward if the Alphas hadn't told me not to. They said they may need me soon, and I wouldn't be quite as useful if I didn't stick around to catch up on the times.

"How long were you planning for?" Daisy says as she blocks the door.

"Two hundred years."

Her expression suggests she's close to figuring it out. "I met this Beta Phoenix at the Awakening. I'd never seen her at the Golden Underground, so she really stood out to me. That and she looked real morose, even though everyone around her was so happy and excited to meet Mother. Her Elder told me she was one of those poor few who met the one they Belong to far too soon. She was supposed to finish her stint with her Elder and then take fifty years to have a few children before she could be with him. Apparently she was worried she'd run into him at the Awakening, knowing there was about a hundred and seventy more years to go. I imagine it would've hurt too much."

"I'm sure it would've." I wish she'd let me out the damn door already.

"I wonder how he must feel, having to wait for her. Especially since she's supposed to go out and have children with other men. And even though she told him it was perfectly fine if he fell in love with one or two mortals while they were separated, it must make him feel real guilty to actually do it."

"Probably." When I look her in the eye, she's sympathetic rather than challenging. I wasn't expecting that.

"Can't blame a guy for wanting to avoid all that by doing time in the Cave."

"Virva told you why I was dormant, didn't she?"

"She told me you had been waiting—" She taps on her left ring finger. "—but she never mentioned for whom. I thought maybe you'd be kind enough to let me know if it had anything to do with the nice young Phoenix girl I met at the Awakening. Or is it just a wild coincidence?"

"Maybe. I might have an easier time remembering if you'd let me out the door."

Annoyed, she moves aside and I push the door open.

"Did I mention her name is Rina?"

"Goodbye, Daisy."

"You better walk back to the museum visibly so everyone can see how sexy you look." I glance back at her, and she's dead serious. "I'll ask the plants if you did, and they won't be afraid to tattle on you."

With a loud, dramatic sigh, I take off at a brisk pace, making a note to glower at every tree, flower, and shrub that I pass.

As I turn the corner, I take out my iPhone and text Carl.

On my way. 10-15 mins. Daisy forced me to walk.

I wait for a reply, reminding myself that if the Alphas trust him with this job, then so should I.

People are looking at me differently than when I walked to the flower shop, like I'm no longer a homeless person they need to avoid.

I think that gaggle of pretty teenage girls is checking me out, but I could be wrong. No wait, they're totally checking me out.

"Hi," says the one in the middle. I give her a self-conscious wave, and they all keep feasting their eyes like I'm an ice cream sundae. When they pass me, I definitely catch them staring at my ass.

Wow, it's been a while since I've been objectified. I had forgotten how much I like it.

My phone beeps. It's Carl.

Kds en root 2 ner Grgtwn prk by Grs Epscpl chrch. I sqrl.

Which I guess means that Henry, Jasper, and Maggie are near Georgetown Park by Grace Episcopal Church. And I guess Carl is a squirrel, which explains the uncharacteristic spelling.

Why are they going there? Are they ok?

4 Jspr xibit. Fne 4 now.

Should I hurry?

No. Tk time. Cn hndl it.

That's good. I'd hate for Carl's first shift to be a doozie. Now I can enjoy a forty-minute, plant-monitored walk to Georgetown.

After getting to Georgetown Park, I track their scent to a big park near Grace Episcopal Church. I vanish behind a building and walk to the parking lot, wondering what this place has to do with the Old West. Then I see Zane loading an old barrel into the back of his red pick-up truck. For a moment I think the kids will appear and climb in the truck with him—I mean why else would Zane be here when they are—but then Carl texts me.

Thngs bad. Kds n hole. Z jrk.

What happened? I text as I watch Zane drive off.

Srsly? I sqrl. No xplain ovr txt.

Trying not to panic, I look around the empty park and try to track their scent. They've walked all around here, and I'm thinking they were after the keg Zane took. There're a few shovels and metal detectors on the ground, but no kids. I'm not seeing a hole, either. I listen for their voices, and they're a few yards ahead. The hole must be hidden by those bushes—

"That jerk!" It's Jasper talking. "He's out there getting all the credit while we're trapped down here with a skeleton and a ton of old dynamite."

A skeleton? Dynamite? What the hell have I missed?!

Just then, my phone beeps.

I in tree 2 yur rit.

I look to my right and see a pine tree. Once I stand underneath its prickly limbs, I see a squirrel on one of the branches. It has an iPhone strapped to its back.

Jump down. I'm right under you.

He obeys, and I make him invisible when I catch him. Carl hops onto my shoulder, pushes off my hoodie, and climbs in.

I dash to the bushes and see the five-by-five foot square-shaped hole in the ground. The deep sides are lined with planks of wood. This isn't just a hole; it's like someone's old cellar or basement. I'm amazed no one's discovered it before now, but then again they probably didn't bother with it since nothing was going to be built over it.

"There's nothing. Not a thing we can use as a ladder." says Henry.

Except this ladder up here. I wish I could set it down there for them, but that wouldn't be very subtle.

"Can't believe he double-crossed us. How could we have been so blind?" bemoans Jasper.

"We may have a bigger problem." Now it's Maggie's turn to speak. "This equation is the molecular formula for silver fulminate."

That sounds bad.

"Meaning what?" Jasper asks.

"Meaning you should've studied for the chemistry exam. It's an explosive ionic compound made from silver." answers Miss Know-It-All.

"Explosive?" Henry sounds worried.

"Extremely." I think Maggie has more bad news. "It's highly unstable. If this stuff was ever exposed, it could self-detonate."

Please don't tell me they're down there with silver fulminate.

"What if that's why he was keeping it down here?" Henry hypothesizes. "Maybe the silver was never a treasure..."

"Maybe he was just using it to build a weapon." Jasper says, finishing Henry's thought.

"If this stuff is right, then Zane's on his way to the museum with a one-hundred-fifty-year-old bomb. And the second he opens it—"

"Boom." quips Jasper.

Whoa! Hold up, everybody. I hardly ever hang out in the organic chemistry class, but I know that a whole keg full of silver fulminate is, like, impossible. An aggregation like that would self-detonate under its own weight. Even if the keg only has a little silver fulminate in it, that's still too much; an amount no larger than a dime could be triggered by the touch of a falling feather. And I saw the way Zane handled the barrel when he put it in the back of his truck, dude. It would've gone cabloowie right then, if not the moment he picked it up. If only the icy brunette had studied more...

"We need to get out of here, now." says Mini Indy with determination.

"I'm guessing you've got a good idea?" asks Jasper.

Oh, hey! I see Henry! Carl waves his tiny squirrel paw at him over my shoulder. And now he's... climbing. Like how Santa probably climbs up a chimney, pressing against the close walls with his hands then his feet. He's making it look pretty easy, too.

"Hey, watch your footing." warns Jasper.

"Be careful, Henry." begs Maggie.

"Why didn't you do that earlier, dumb-ass?" I bark at him.

After they're all out and running the right direction, I glance at my watch: eleven twenty. It's a fifty-minute walk from here to the museum.

"Guys, you left your treasure-hunting crap here!" I say, pointing to the pile of metal detectors and shovels. Oh, well. Then I take off after them.


	7. The Griffin Gang: Part 2

We just. Barely. Make it. I can hear that traitorous prick take charge now that it's noon and Jasper isn't at his exhibit.

"Ladies and gentlemen, since Jasper Bartlett's runnin' late, let's start the show with my presentation."

I think the kids can hear him now, too. They're panicking a bit and trying to run faster down the hall.

"In celebration of the great American west, I am pleased to announce that a century-old frontier mystery is about to be solved right here and now."

The kids finally make it to the exhibit, and Jasper sprints over to the keg of silver just as Zane is about to open it.

"No, no no no, Zane! No, no." Jasper yells as he puts his hands down hard on the lid.

"Jasper, what are you doing?" asks Zane irritably.

"You don't know what's in there; it could explode!"

I wish Jasper was right, if only so he could avoid this humiliation.

Dean Bartlett hastily cuts through the crowd, heading for his son. "Sorry, I apologize, everyone."  
>"No, Dad, we can't let him open this thing."<p>

"Jasper," his dad whispers. "Pull yourself together."

"No, you don't understand; if we open this, it could blow."

"You blow, Bartlett!" shouts a random jerk in the crowd. I set invisible Squirrel Carl down so he can tie the guy's shoe laces together as everyone laughs at his mean joke.

Man, I really hate seeing Jasper getting ridiculed like this. It almost makes me sorry that I spat in his coffee earlier.

"As I was saying," says lying treasonous stupid-face Zane before opening the totally harmless keg of silver. He takes a piece in his hand and holds it up for the crowd to see. "The long-lost silver of Carson Creek!"

"Booooo!" I yell as everyone applauds. Carl chitters angrily on my shoulder.

"Missing for one hundred and fifty years until today!" Zane continues. Then he looks at Jasper.

"Go ahead, it won't bite." Zane says, gesturing for him to take a piece of silver. Jasper does, and he looks so wounded and confused that I think I might tie Zane to the Sucker-punch rose bush so he can get the snot beat out of him for a few hours. "Who else wants to touch a piece of history?"

A bunch of the students crowd around the barrel so they can each hold a little silvery piece of history. Jasper glances over at his friends and they exchange that sad sorry look.

Then Jasper looks up at Zane as he tosses his silver into the keg. "We trusted you." he states with ire.

That disloyal prick of a cowboy just gives him a mocking pout, like, "Too bad."

Ugh. Forget the roses; I'm feeding that guy to Colonel Quack-Quack.

Dr. Charles "Stupid Head" Wincott comes up to talk to Zane. "Impressive acquisition, young man."

"Well, thank you, sir." Zane responds, putting a hand on the man's shoulder.

"How on earth did you find it?"

Zane throws his chunk of silver into the barrel. "It wasn't easy, let me tell you." he says as he walks off with the admissions guy.

Wow, yesterday really sucked. And what made it worse was that it was followed by a Monday.

Jasper got up and opened the window during the night, so I was able to hang out in their room. I'm worried about him, by the way; not only does he usually prefer the window closed, but he spent the whole night tossing and turning, and all the covers are in a pile on the floor by his bed. And when he woke up this morning, he looked all sweaty and pale. Well, looks, actually; he hasn't improved since he got up twenty minutes ago. I know it's Monday, but still.

On the bright side, Adventure Boy seems relatively normal, although he's probably still upset about yesterday. He went downstairs a few minutes ago.

I follow Jasper downstairs as Henry talks about camel's milk with Uncle Bryan. Apparently he didn't bother to ask what kind of milk Henry got at the store before putting it in his coffee.

"Maybe you should let Jasper handle the grocery shopping from now on." suggests Mr. Bartlett after pouring his tainted coffee in the sink.

I agree. Henry didn't buy any junk food! Not that there was much to be had at the weirdo whole-foods place he went to. And when I snuck whatever junk food I could find in the cart, he put it back on the shelf.

Jasper enters the kitchen and announces his presence with a sickly cough.

"Hey, feeling alright?" Henry asks as Jasper grabs the cereal container and pops open the lid.

"Well, other than being double-crossed, making a fool out of myself in front of the entire school, and destroying my chances at Yale… yeah, I'm fantastic." answers Jasper as he pours way too much cereal into his bowl.

By the way, what is it with these bowls? The rim or lip or whatever you call it is like two-and-a-half inches wide. They're like upside down hats with wide brims. You can't drink from them easily and Jasper's Froot Loops are spilling over onto the brim thingy, guaranteeing they won't get any of the camel's milk that he's pouring in the bowl.

"You might not wanna—" Mr. Bartlett tries to warn from behind them, but then gives up when he realizes it's too late.

"Listen, Jasper," Henry begins, continuing to stand by the counter with his bowl of cereal. "Zane may have hijacked that silver, but he didn't solve the mystery of Carson Creek."  
>"Well, think if we could figure out what happened to those miners, then…"<p>

"That is something Yale might remember."

Um… why did Jasper just put the glass pitcher of camel's milk in the cabinet? Is anyone else going to notice that that's a little weird?  
>Mr. Bartlett leaves the fridge and walks over to his son. "Jasper, I know you worked really hard on that exhibit, and it didn't turn out like you'd hoped, but try not to be too hard on yourself."<p>

While Uncle Dad gives his son a pep talk, Henry sees the weird thing his cousin did. He's as bewildered by it as I am.

"It's so easy for you to say, Dad; you've already got a degree from Yale hanging on your wall." he rebuttals as he sits down with his bowl at the kitchen table.

"Doesn't matter to me which college you go to."

"Really?" Jasper asks skeptically. "Are you going to be saying that in five years when I'm living with circus folk and riding a unicycle with a monkey in a tutu?"

Henry puts the milk back in the fridge where it belongs. I think he's starting to think something's up with Jasper like I do.

"If that's what makes you happy." says Mr. Bartlett.

"Well, what would make me happy is going to the same school you went to."

What is this, Make Daddy Proud Syndrome? Well at least he has a shot at it. I certainly never stood a chance with my own father.

"The point is, Jasper, I'm proud of you no matter what."

I don't think he's really listening, though. Jasper's rubbing the back of his neck, looking pretty uncomfortable.

"Are you hot? Is it hot in here? I'm cooking." he complains just before he puts the impractically-shaped bowl to his lips and proceeds to noisily gulp down the camel's milk in his cereal. It's spilling out on the sides of his mouth and into his lap, but he doesn't seem to care.

Jasper still went to school. After the morning weirdness—especially the milk-guzzling thing—nobody told him he might be sick. He probably has a fever, yet his dad didn't make him check his temperature. I hope Henry will pick up on it before Jasper gets worse.

School hasn't actually started yet, so Henry and Jasper are in the DOUM rooms' little office that the kids call the DOUM shed. Jasper sits on a plastic swivel chair in front of a counter against a wall, click-clacking away on his laptop. I'm pacing, thoroughly distressed by what he's typing.

"I think this is a really solid plan." Henry says, sitting cross-legged on the cluttered desk with an old book in his lap. "And if we pull it off, it could be even better than finding that silver."

"How exactly is it better?" asks Jasper, sounding snippy and irritable.

"Well, Zane might be getting the credit for finding that barrel, but nobody's ever solved the real mystery of Carson Creek."

"That's because nobody cares what happened to a bunch of miners one hundred and fifty years ago."

"Well, history does." argues Henry, looking slightly hurt. "Besides, solving the deaths of dozens of people is a lot more important than finding some keg of silver."

"You have no idea what's important in this world." Jasper says in that same sardonic tone as he rises and walks over to stand behind Henry, carrying a small book. "You're not even from around here; you're not even from around anywhere." He drops the book on the desk.

"Well, that's not true at all."

"Yeah, it is."

Henry looks at him, and I think his feelings are starting to hurt. Sadly, Jasper's not even close to being finished.

"You've never lived anywhere for more than two years. And while you may have some genius insight into why a baboon scratches its butt then climbs a tree and eats an armadillo, you have absolutely no idea what's important in my world."

Damn. I think there really is something wrong with him. At least now I hope there is, because he better be able to blame that little tirade on being sick.

"Now if you'll excuse me," he mutters, walking back to his laptop. "Class starts in ten minutes and I've still got homework to finish."

"Baboons don't eat armadillos. They don't even live in the same hemisphere." Henry says matter-of-factly. I'm surprised he doesn't sound annoyed.

"There you go, correcting me again," says Jasper, continuing to type those worrisome words on his computer. "Reminding me how stupid and useless I am."

"I never said that." Henry says, sounding as concerned as I feel. He closes the book he was looking at and hops off the desk. "Jasper, you're one of the smartest and most useful people I've ever known."

Ignoring Henry as he sits on the counter beside him, Jasper keeps typing. It only worries Henry more.

"I know I asked you this at breakfast, but are you sure you're feeling okay?" He asks as he puts a hand to his shoulder. Jasper quickly shrugs it off.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Jasper grabs his water bottle. "I'm just… I'm dehydrated."

"Henry, look at the damn computer screen." I say quietly as Jasper takes a swig. He doesn't, of course.

"I get it." He does? "You're even more mad at me for messing up your event than I thought." No! "But if we can just work together and figure out what happened—"

"Do you know what? I think that we've worked together long enough on this. You're ideas have gotten me nowhere."

"But I do have one more. There may not be anything down here, but if we can just take a look at that book that Zane has…"

Jasper makes a noise in his throat as he swallows another gulp of water at the sound of that traitor's name. "Zane, Zane, the migraine pain." he quips derisively just before typing those disturbing words again.

"His karma will come back around, trust me."

Buddha Boy is right; some of it already did. Or does me tripping him in front of Dr. Wincott yesterday not count?

"Trust you?" Jasper's looking Henry dead in the eye. "Not likely." Then he goes back to typing. "Not after this debacle. D'you know I wouldn't be surprised to find out that you and Zane are besties."

"Jasper, talk to me." Henry says firmly as he puts a hand on his cousin's shoulder. "Because this is way past you just being angry."

Oh? Could it be that he's sick, maybe?

"I'm late for class." Jasper picks up his backpack and leaves.

"Hey, you forgot to print out your homework!" Henry yells after the door creaks closed. He stares at the door for a second or so, thinking he'll come back. Then, finally, Henry sits in the chair and looks at the screen. Four pages are filled from edge to edge, eleven single-spaced columns of the same caps-locked question:

WHYME?

I thought he'd tell Uncle Bryan, but I guess he's still skeptical and choosing to blame everything on Jazzy's terrible, horrible, no-good very bad day yesterday. Why can't someone at least check his damn temperature? I may be immune to disease, but I still know what being sick looks like.

Nervously wringing my hands, I follow Henry to history class. It's normally very quiet in here, but everyone's "horsing around", as the aggravated teacher puts it. The only safe place for me to stand is by the blackboard; I don't want to get hit with anything.

"Settle down, everyone!" Mrs. Alder orders. Her usually docile class ignores her and continues to talk and throw wads of paper.

Jasper enters and takes the seat beside Maggie as the teacher tells her class they're behaving like children.

"Are you alright? You look sick." Maggie asks Jasper, who's now even paler and sweatier. I'm glad somebody finally noticed.

"I look sick?" He still has that snarky attitude. "Have you checked out a mirror lately?"

"What's that's supposed to mean?"

Jasper leans over the aisle. His voice is low, and a little raspy. "It means you should try eating a cheeseburger every once in a while because a little protein never killed anybody."  
>"Except for the cow it came from." Veggie Girl adds, sounding offended.<p>

Whoa, Jasper just snapped his pencil in his hand. He's going from irritable to pissed pretty quickly. "Breaking news, Mags; animals are not people too."

"What is wrong with you?" She sounds more concerned than angry.

"Gee, I don't know," Here comes Jasper's second tirade of the day. "Maybe it's having to constantly endure the stench of your tofurgers, or listen to that sanctimonious veggie-yak. 'Fur is dead!' Gag me."

Crap, that was brutal. And I feel really bad because I… well, I kind of agree with him. Okay, not kind of; I'm right there with him. I hunt Bambi and all his woodland buddies on a regular basis and eat them raw, something that even Nymphs do without guilt. It's actually impossible for an Immortal to be a vegetarian, because munching on only plants could never provide us with enough calories. So… how exactly do the Alphas expect me to woo this chick when my diet consists of adorable animals? Oh, never mind; that's not important right now.

"I never knew you felt that way." says Maggie, clearly hurt.

On the one hand, I agree with Jasper, but on the other, I want to slap him for making her feel bad. Eco-fascist or not, I still like her.

"Well, there's a lot you don't know," Oh, boy. He's not done. "Like for one, meat is delicious," Well, it _is_ delicious. "And fur is dead? Of course it's dead! Do you have any idea how hard it would be to walk around with a live muskrat on your head?"

"It's pretty hard." Henry comments honestly from his seat behind Maggie. Thankfully Jasper has nothing else to say.

"The Pony Express," Mrs. Alder is now trying to start the class. "It lasted only eighteen months, but it left a legacy that endures to this day."

I had planned on paying attention since hardly anyone else is (Mrs. Alder is a nice teacher), but Kelvin is distracting me. He's that guy who was shyly gawking at the twin girls yesterday. Now he's not being very shy. His glasses are on his head and he's looking confidently at the twin in blue whom I'm guessing is Holly.

"'Sup, chicas?"

_Chicas_? What the hell kinda lame-ass line is that? That won't—Why is she smiling like he's being attractive right now? Ew, and he just waggled his eyebrows at her like a creep. What the hell is wrong with everyone today?

I think Henry is beginning to notice all the weirdness. Not that he could probably do anything about it.

"Two words, Holly; art lessons." says Not-Holly to her sister seated in front of her.

"Excuse me?" replies Holly matching her sister's unpleasant tone.

"The hair, the eyes; this looks nothing like me." She criticizes, showing her a sketch that Holly drew of her.

"Just so you know; you stole your entire look _from_ me." Holly snaps.

"What's gotten into all of you?" says Mrs. Alder. I know, right? Has everyone caught bastarditis or something? They're all so rude today…

Suddenly, Jasper snatches Maggie's messenger bag off her desk and starts rummaging through it. Maggie tries to take it back.

"Give it to me!" growls Jasper as he tugs at the bag.

"Give you what?" Maggie says incredulously, deciding the let go. The whole class is looking on, wondering what the hell his problem is.

"I know you keep a diet soda in here. You always pretend like you don't but I know you… I know you…"

He falls out of his chair and passes out on the floor before he can finish his sentence.

"Jasper!" Henry yells as he gets up to help his OBVIOUSLY SICK cousin.

The kids are now in Dean Bartlett's office, where poor sick Jasper is lying down on the leather couch, conked out and mumbling about various kinds of meat. His dad thinks he's just snapped under all the pressure he's been under lately, which I'd be willing to believe if not for the craziness going on throughout the school. I'm pretty sure Jasper is suffering from the same thing everyone else is.

I'm waiting outside the office door, wondering what in Zeus' name is going on with everyone. Really, I'm almost afraid to be standing in this hallway. All these teenagers are fighting, making out, or just goofing off. There's even one guy wrapped up in toilet paper, pretending to be a mummy.

Dean Bartlett opens the office door and steps into the hall. Maggie and Henry follow after, and the three of them take in the chaos.

Zane suddenly appears in the hallway, clammy and pale like Jasper.

"Help, help!" he begs as he reaches out to random students. They either ignore him or back away, his hunched over, wild-eyed figure totally freaking them out. Then he makes it to Henry. "Help me, please," he pleads, his hands grasping the front of Henry's shirt. As Zane collapses, Maggie takes out her phone.

"911, we need help." Unsure, she turns to Henry. "What's the nature of our emergency?"

Baffled, Henry just shakes his head. "I have no idea."

An hour and a half later, the school and some connecting parts of the museum are under quarantine. Hospital beds are wheeled to and fro as some of the students are taken to other rooms for observation. Like many others, Jasper lays unconscious on a cot, an IV stuck in his arm. Everyone who isn't sick is either cooped up in classrooms or, like the doctors, wearing medical masks and trying to keep the infected comfortable.

"Thirty-two sick kids and they can't tell me what's causing it?" Dean Bartlett asks rhetorically as he sits by his son's bed.

The head doctor comes into the exhibit-turned-hospital. "Blood samples are showing an obscure bacterium. We haven't been able to identify it yet."

"Is it contagious?" inquires Mr. Bartlett.

"We know it's not airborne, so it's safe to remove your masks."

Henry and Maggie, who are also by Jasper's bed, pull off their masks.

"It's being spread by direct contact." Mrs. Doctor continues to explain.

"With what?" Henry asks.

"That we don't know." Looking once more at her clipboard, she begins to walk and Henry, Maggie, Mr. Bartlett and I follow after her. "We're still trying to determine the source of the outbreak. I have teams combing every inch of the building. But so long as you wear gloves, and avoid physical contact with the patients, you should be fine."

"What about my son, and the others?"

"We're doing our best. Whatever it is, the incubation period is extremely short. It attacks the brain first causing loss of inhibition, and quickly progresses to fever." She takes a moment to glance at Jasper. "I've seen everything from SARS to Ebola, but, I've never seen this."

Henry steps forward. "I think I have; when I lived with the Huli tribe in the mountains of Papua New Guinea."

Mrs. Doctor looks ready to roll her eyes. "This is no time for jokes, kid."

"I'm trying to—" Henry yells. Then he gets himself under control. "I'm trying to help."

"Leave this to the experts." says the woman who has no idea what disease has incapacitated over thirty students. "In the meantime, everyone's under quarantine. The entire building's on lockdown; no one goes in or out without my say-so."

"How long are we stuck here?" Maggie asks.

"To find the source and identify treatment... could be forty-eight hours, maybe longer."

"We can't just sit here and do nothing." she replies.

"Well, as long as you're healthy, I could use your assistance in triage."

Unwilling to sit idly by, Maggie follows Mrs. Doctor.

Henry and Mr. Bartlett disperse, while I take a moment to squelch my fear. These kids are sick, sure, but does that mean they're going to die?

Henry and I sit on either side of Jasper's cot, neither of us knowing what to do. I want to call Carl, but he's still working his custodian shift. And what good would it do, anyway? Wouldn't he just worry? I'm already doing that, and it hasn't accomplished much. There's nothing Virva or Daisy could do, either, except worry. The Alphas could… well, the situation's not dire enough for them to interfere. Their business is with Henry, not these kids. True, Jasper is considered under Immortal protection because he's close to Henry, but that doesn't make him priority. I could inject some of my blood into Jasper—though it only works as a strong pain-killer, not a cure-all like Mother's—but if he looks like he's recovering, it'll only confuse the doctors. So far it looks like the only thing I can do is to trust the medics to figure this out.

You know, I feel guilty being here. Immortals are immune to all diseases; we can't even carry them. It doesn't seem fair that I can walk around here without worrying I'll catch the mystery illness, while everyone else can end up like the students on the cots. Also, there's not much I can do, except surreptitiously fluff pillows, adjust blankets, and hope no one gets worse.

Maggie walks by, pulling Zane's cot.

"Where're you taking him?" asks Henry.

"To one of the classrooms," answers Maggie. "They're isolating extreme cases for closer observation."

As Zane passes by, I see Henry's eyes narrow at him like he's concentrating on something. It takes me a second, but I realize he's looking at Zane's fingertips. They're shiny… silvery. That's weird, isn't it? Yeah, he touched the silver, but wouldn't the residue be off by now? I guess his fingers are stained with it then.

Now Henry's on to something. He checks Jasper's fingers; more silver stains. Then he checks Kelvin's in the next cot; same thing. Oh, crap. The thought crossed my mind, but it sounded unlikely. But I guess it really is the silver.

Wait, didn't the Carson Creek miners, you know, die? Carl mentioned the story when he explained what happened in my absence yesterday, and Henry talked about "solving the deaths of dozens of people" this morning. Oh… _no_. It's happening all over again, isn't it? Something on the newly discovered silver is once again killing miners… I mean minors. And the doctors can't identify the bacterium.

Oh, gods. They're all going to die.

"This time yesterday, everyone was fine. Now half the school's gone bubonic." Maggie states as she walks over to Henry. Oh, I am so happy she's only exaggerating. Thirty-one kids and Jasper is bad enough.

"Did you touch the silver?" he asks, still at Kelvin's bedside.

Nope, and neither did you, which is why you're not DYING.

"No, why?"

I can see the gears turning in Henry's head as he catches sight of the contagious keg of silver on display.

"It's the silver that came from Carson Creek!" he exclaims.

"Where all the miners died…" Maggie says quietly.

"Yes, great, you're both very clever." I say as I wipe the sweat beading on my forehead. I'm so panicked that I'm actually perspiring. "Now go tell the damn doctor before they have to start bringing in body bags."

They do as they're "told", and soon Henry and Maggie are talking to Mrs. Doctor and Mr. Bartlett.

"Everyone who touched it is sick. We didn't and we're okay." explains Henry.

Uncle Bryan looks at the doctor sympathetically, knowing it's not easy to believe. "It sounds crazy to me too, doctor, but we can't rule out anything."

We all stare at her hopefully, but she's still skeptical.

"What if it was your son on that cot?" Mr. Bartlett asks.

There's a moment of infuriating silence while we wait for her answer. She better have a little faith or I'll—

"We'll test it." She finally says.

Ugh! About time! It's not like these people are _dying_ or anything.

Mrs. Doctor points to the keg and orders one of her people to get it to the mobile lab.

As the deadly silver is wheeled away, Henry begins to look terrible.

"Henry, tell me you're not getting sick." Maggie asks, grabbing his arm. Great, now my heart's in my throat.

He shakes his head. "This is my fault. All of this. I embarrassed Jasper in front of the Yale guy and I tried to make it up to him by helping him find the silver. Everything I did added up to this."

"Henry, this isn't your fault. You were just trying to help. How could you have known there was going to be an outbreak?"

It seems that something Maggie said resulted in a light-bulb moment for Henry, because after a second of thinking he says, "Come with me."

"Where are we going?" Maggie asks as he leads her behind the big mural with the chicken-nugget buffalos on it.

"To check Zane's book."  
>"What are you doing with Zane's stuff?"<p>

Henry hurriedly takes a book out of Zane's messenger bag and begins to flip through it. When he gets to the Comstock Lode page, he stops.

"What do you see?"

Maggie's not sure what he's getting at. "A bunch of unlucky miners?"

"A little closer. Look at the background." He points to the upper left-hand corner. "Right here."

"Birds?"

"Or bats. I'd tried to tell Dr. Carmel I'd seen this before."

"In New Guinea."

Henry nods. "One summer, all the Huli tribesmen started freaking out and came down with a fever; I got it, too. I think I know what's happening; but I need to be sure."

We end up in the DOUM shed because Henry wants to talk to his parents. I'm glad the Tesla Building is transitively connected to the school.

Maggie sets up iChat and we wait for the connection. A minute later the screen shows the dark inside of a tent. Or maybe it's a cave. A tent in a cave? Anyway, his bleary-eyed parents are getting situated in front of their computer.

"Hey, Mom, hey, Dad. Sorry I woke you up."

"Everything okay there, son?" his father inquires.

"Yeah, there's just something I need to ask you about," Yeah? _Yeah?!_ You released a deadly plague and you're answering YEAH?! "Do you remember the summer the Hulis got sick?"

"Not just the Hulis; you were pretty bad off yourself." says Mama Griffin.

"Exactly. How did we get infected?"

"You were out with the tribesmen gathering some bamboo shoots near the caves, and somehow you disturbed the tube-nosed fruit bats that lived inside." explains his dad.

"You all got so sick so fast." his mother adds.

"I know, but I don't remember how we got better."

"Of course you don't, honey; you had delusions. You were saying things that, well, didn't sound like you; so Otis whipped up an herbal remedy."

"Otis?" asks Maggie.

"The local shaman," clarifies Henry. He was also Henry's Secondary Watcher in New Guinea. "What was in it?"

"I believe there was some taro root, uh, nizhu1 leaves, some quila tree sap… uh, why are you asking about all of this now?"

Because people are dying.

"Uh, it's for a school assignment." I don't quite approve of the lie, but his parents' ignorant smiles are probably better than looks of fear and horror. "Thanks for the help. I'm sorry I forgot about the time difference. I love you."

"I love you, too." replies his mom before blowing a kiss.

And with that, Henry clicks out of the program. Well, that didn't help much. All they remembered was a few ingredients. What the hell are we supposed to do with that?

Maggie strides over to the counter Henry's sitting at.

"Toxic cave bats? What does that have to do with a bunch of old silver?"

"Bats also hibernate in mineshafts." Henry explains.

"You think bats infected the Carson Creek silver?"

"Could the infection have survived all these years?"

"Absolutely. Bacterial spores are impervious to heat or cold; they could survive for centuries. You should tell Dr. Carmel."

Henry laughs humorlessly. "The only way she's going to believe that story is if I have an 'M.D.' after my name.'

"Well, there isn't. So what do we do now?"

Henry thinks for a moment then remembers something. "There was another letter in the mochila." He says as he walks over to the desk with the stacks of old letters on it. "It was addressed to an Army Colonel in Caron Creek."

"I remember! From William Baxter."

"M.D."

"A doctor! Maybe he knew about the infection."  
>Henry studies the letter. "Marine Hospital Service,"<p>

"Founded by John Adams in 1798. It was created to care for wounded soldiers and disease victims, and this Baxter guy was the Surgeon General."  
>"'We have studied the microbe <em>Lasiurus Blossevillii<em>.'"

"That's Latin for… western red bat. You were right!"

"Bat fever; that's what killed the miners!"  
>"And the army knew about it and they wrote the Surgeon General for a cure." Maggie points at a line in the letter. "'A vaccine has been developed and is on route.'"<p>

"But it was too late; the miners were already dead."

"And Isaiah Henderson had already shipped that barrel to his brother," Excited by her eureka moment, Maggie saunters around to the front of the desk. "which explains why Samuel Henderson died down in that bunker!"

"And why everyone who's touched it since has gotten sick!"

All of a sudden, Maggie has an "oh, crap" look on her face. "Henry… the Carson Creek miners, they all died within twenty-four hours. If everyone touched the silver yesterday at noon…"

We all glance at the clock: ten fifty-eight.

"We only have an hour left." Henry says.

Oh, gods. I think I'm about to throw up or something.

"There was a vaccine," he walks around the desk to Maggie. "But this doesn't list the formula. Where's Otis when you need him?"

… Should I call him?! I could get his number from the Immortal operator and—

"The Army Medical Repository!" exclaims Maggie. "It's here in D.C. It holds all of the military's research collections."

"Including the vaccine formula?"

"Not just the formula; samples. If there was a vaccine, it should still be there today. It's a long shot—"

"It's our only shot."

Okie dokie. This plan is better, anyway.

I'm bouncing on my heels as Mr. Bartlett reads the old letter Maggie and Henry brought from the DOUM shed. Now no one has to die! Yippee!

I watch eagerly as Mr. Bartlett walks over to a doctor. "I need to see Dr. Carmel."  
>"She's in isolation; they're testing the silver."<p>

"There may be a vaccine."

"If there was a vaccine, sir, we would know about it." the doctor replies like an arrogant prick.

"Listen to me," Mr. Bartlett urges quietly. "We need to get to the Army Medical Repository, or we may lose these people."

"No one gets out of the building, sir; containment protocol."

"Show her this," he implores, holding up the letter.

"Calm down."

Calm down? Screw you, man!

"Calm down?" asks Mr. Bartlett incredulously in a deadly quiet tone. "You want me to calm down? I have a son over there dying on a cot. I am not going to calm down."

"Sir, I understand."

"I don't think you do…"

They continue to argue but I've stopped paying attention. Henry's pointed out to Maggie that there's no time left: it's eleven oh-five. Now we have fifty-five minutes, and we can't waste it arguing with a scrubs-clad idiot.

"And even if they do believe us, they have to call the repository, wait for an approval, get it here..."

"So, we're just going to let everyone die?" asks Little Miss Pessimist.

"We're going to go after the vaccine ourselves."

Obviously.

"How? We can't just walk in and take it!"

Probably could if I helped…

"What choice do we have?"

Hmm… It's either this or I call Otis, ask him how he made the remedy, find the ingredients, make the damn thing, leave it for a doctor to find, then hope they figure out what it's for before these people succumb to the fast-acting illness. Or I could administer the cure myself and watch as everyone freaks out at their miraculous recovery.

Let's go with Henry's plan.

"The place is guarded; it's too risky." Maggie argues.

It's not as risky if he's invisible.

"If we don't get it… Jasper, Zane, all of these people—"

"I know,"

"We can't let that happen."

As ever, Maggie tries to keep Henry grounded and rational. "How're you going to get out of here? All of the exits are sealed off."

Henry takes a moment to think as he eyes a doctor putting on white rubber gloves. "How do we get out?" he murmurs. He looks at another doctor standing by an exit. "How do we get out?" he asks again. "How do we get out? How do we get out?" Henry asks, panic rising in his voice. He coughs and for a second I think I'm going to pass out in terror.

"Henry?" Maggie's expression is concerned and scared.

"There's no way out! There's no way out!" he cries before coughing some more. The doctors are starting to notice his disconcerting behavior. Eyes wide in alarm, Henry grabs Maggie's shoulders. "We have to get out of here, now!"

"You better be faking, you little bastard." I say under my breath just before Henry falls to the floor.

He's not pale, he's not sweaty, but Maggie is certainly falling for the theatrics as she kneels beside him. Henry continues to cough for a couple more seconds before revealing his plan.

"Get me on a gurney; follow my lead." he whispers before resuming his coughing and moaning.

Maggie smiles, relieved that he's only pretending to die. "Hey, guys, gimme a hand."

Doctors One and Two stride over and pick up Henry while Maggie wheels over a gurney.

"His symptoms are advanced; I'll get him to an isolation room." she says before hurrying him out of the exhibit/hospital and into a hallway. When they pass a janitor's closet, Maggie stops.

"Go, go, go!" she urges as he rolls off the gurney. Maggie whips out her phone as they dash inside.

"I downloaded a map; the Repository's only three miles from here." she says as Henry opens the garbage chute. "Good luck," she states as she hands him her phone.

"Thanks," Henry replies before jumping down the chute.

I count to ten then trail after him.

Thankfully, Monkey Boy was able to find all kinds of shortcuts on the way to the AMR. If I can get him in and out of here under ten minutes, we might be okay.

When we reach out destination, I turn him invisible as he hides behind a nearby building. He still can't see me, though I can still see him. This trick is bound to give me a headache soon.

After shaking off what he thinks is a cold-induced shiver, Henry runs and jumps over the tall black gate with me at his heels. There are cameras mounted everywhere, but none of them can detect us as we sprint over to the building and scale the wall. Once we're on the roof, Henry finds an air vent. I help him tear the cover off in one big pull, and he slips down without missing a beat. His focus on finding the vaccine is proving useful; he's too distracted to notice any weirdness.

Soon I'm crawling after him, wondering how Henry knows where to go. He probably doesn't. I'm praying that the first room he decides to drop into is where we need to be.

I nearly run into him when he stops. He repositions himself so he can rabbit kick the air-vent cover below him.

As I'm about to drop down after him, a sharp migraine stabs me right in the temple; I'm just not old enough to use my powers this way for this long. I make Henry visible again.

Me feet hit the concrete floor, and when I look around I realize I had made the right choice. There are enough reflective surfaces in this huge storage room that Henry would've noticed his non-reflection eventually, no matter how engrossed he is.

He strides swiftly past the jar-laden chrome shelves and big dark metal cabinets as the alarm sounds. Dammit; he must've been caught when he walked past that camera by the door. I shouldn't have made him appear so soon.

Whatever. I'll make sure he escapes.

I heighten my hearing so I can detect the guards, but the oscillating sound of the alarm makes it difficult to focus on their voices without my eardrums rupturing.

All I could catch was "take the lab" and "weapons ready". I'm hoping this isn't considered the lab, even as I catch sight of all the equipment and petri dishes when we reach the other side of this massive room.

Henry spots a windowed cabinet filled with old-looking bottles. I sigh with relief when he sees the little brown one labeled "Bacterium Red Bat Fever".

"Yes!" he cheers under his breath. His mood is quickly soured when he realizes the cabinet is locked. I'm ready to rip of the lock but then౼ Oh, look! Henry found the fire ax! He can handle this, then.

Unfortunately, a guard enters the room just as Henry reaches for it. He hides behind a big metal tank before he's seen.

There's no time to lose, though. After checking to make sure the guard is looking away, Henry carefully lifts the ax from its mount on the wall and tip-toes over to the locked cabinet. The apparently incompetent guard is ready to leave until he hears Henry using the crowbar end of the ax on the latch.

The flashlight lands on a very guilty-looking Henry.

"Whatever you're doin, stop and turn around. Slowly," says the guard as his Taser whirrs to life.

Henry obeys, but clutches the ax like it's the only thing keeping him alive.

The guard inches closer and closer, his flashlight and Taser trained on Henry. "I don't wanna tase you, bro; it's best if you hand over that fire ax."

After a moment of pained consideration, Henry takes the ax in one hand and holds it out to the guard. Just as I'm contemplating hitting the guard in the balls, Henry thrusts the ax backwards, shattering the glass in the cabinet door. The guard yells for him to stop, but Henry ignores him and snatches the little brown bottle off its shelf.

"You've got nowhere to go, kid!" the guard shouts. Henry stands in front of the windowed wall next to the cabinet, looking panicked. My eyes widen with fear as the guard fires at Henry. He dodges at the last moment, allowing the electrified little bullet-thingies to crack the glass with a loud crackle.

Then Henry jumps through the window like a total bad-ass and takes off down the hall. Once Henry turns a corner, I trip the guard so he can't catch up too fast.

When I finally burst through the door I saw Henry go through, he's already heading out another one that leads outside.

There aren't any guards out here; not yet. They probably didn't think anyone could escape the building, what with all the guards in there. Across the pavement, and then it's over the gate and through the mall, to Smithson High we go.

We make it to the National Mall, and there's still two guards trailing us. I check the clock on my phone; I got him out of there in record time, but damn, he's going to have to go faster than this.

"Get back here! Hey, kid! Where do you think you're going? Get back here!" barks the guy I tripped. I should've knocked him out when I had the chance.

"If you want to be intimidating, then carry a damn firearm, you pansy!" I yell back at him.

Henry spies an unmanned police horse behind a bench and launches himself onto the saddle as I finish my insult.

I laugh at his incredible luck, as well as the dumbstruck look on the policeman's face as he turns away from the hotdog stand.

"Stop! Stop that kid!" Taser Guard yells futilely as Henry rides off.

I sprint gleefully after him, thinking that maybe our situation isn't completely hopeless.

It's eleven forty-seven when we make it back, and Henry is "escorted" by Doctors One and Two all the way to the exhibit/hospital.

"Let me go, guys, you don't understand!" But the arrogant morons ignore him. "Let me go, guys; I need to see Dr. Carmel!"

Just then, Dr. Carmel enters the room.

"Let him go!" she orders as she strides over to take the vaccine from him. Remorseful, she looks him in the eye. "You were right about the silver; let's hope you're right about this, too." Relieved but apprehensive, she heads to the isolation room.

Both incredulous and awed, Mr. Bartlett walks over to Henry. "How did you…"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

I'm lying on the floor in the guys' bedroom, my limbs spread out as if I'm in the middle of making a carpet angel. Everyone was given the vaccine with minutes to spare, and now we're at home waiting for Jasper to recover. Henry's sitting cross-legged on the desk reading aloud a Buffalo Bill dime novel, and Uncle Bryan is in a chair by Jasper's bed, both of them waiting for him to wake up.

I'm pretty anxious for him to wake up, too.

Henry once again pauses in his reading to see if Jasper has opened his eyes. I guess he hasn't. Disappointed, he continues to read. "The scoundrels circled back, but I returned their fire, proving equal to the occasion. Then they finally galloped away."

"Those are mostly tall tales, you know." Jasper mumbles as he stirs.

"Jasper!" Henry says excitedly as he moves to sit on the bed. I decide to stand up so I don't miss this warm and fuzzy family moment.

"Hi." Jasper croaks, sitting up in bed.

Uncle Dad leans forward. "How're you feeling?"

Still tired, Jasper groans as he adjusts himself against the pillows. "Better." Confused, he looks from his father to his cousin. "What happened?"  
>"We solved the mystery of Carson Creek… together." states Henry.<p>

"Was it the silver?" asks Jasper.

Henry nods. "The CDC disinfected it. It's safe now."

"Zane? And the others?"

"Dr. Carmel administered the antidote in time," answers Mr. Bartlett. "Everyone's recovering."

Jasper sighs in relief.

"I'm sorry for how everything went down, Jasper," says Henry. "I know it didn't turn out the way you wanted it to."

"It wasn't your fault." admits Jasper. "If I hadn't been trying so hard to impress Yale, none of this would've happened."

Henry smiles appreciatively.

"You were just… being a brother." Jasper continues. "Thanks."

"Aw," I utter involuntarily. Then I clear my throat and leave the room before I have to impulse to force them into a group hug or something.

The next day, all the plague victims are helping take down the exhibit. I can't help smiling when I see Kelvin working with Holly and Not-Holly. I guess the Bat Fever wasn't all bad.

Henry notices Zane's arrival and gets Jasper's attention. I thought I'd be angrier to see the annoying little prick, but last night I realized that if Zane hadn't stolen the silver, Henry and Maggie would've ended up touching it as well. So I guess I can't be that mad at him.

"No hard feelings?" Zane asks as he comes to stand in front of Jasper.

"Why'd you do it?"

"It's nothing personal it's just… you're a sophomore, I'm a senior; you've got two more years to pad your res. This was my last shot."

"We were gonna share the credit with you, Zane—"

"Come on, Jasp; you know how hard it is to impress an Ivy League school. You need all the edge you can get. Sharing the credit ain't gonna cut it. I've seen your focus, your ambition; I know you, Jasper. You would've done the same thing."

Jasper stares at him for a moment. "Then you don't know me. You don't know me at all."

Maggie, Henry, and I flash triumphant smiles at Zane, and he eventually walks off.

"You have stupid hair, by the way!" I yell as he saunters down the hall. Serves him right for betraying Jasper for thirty pieces of silver.

As Jasper's rubbing the back of his neck in vexation, he spies Dr. Charles "Stupid Head" Wincott.

"Dr. Wincott! Hi," he calls, jogging over to the Yale guy. "Look, I-I just wanted to come over and apologize. You know, for the paint, and the exhibit… and the plague. Um, none of that really turned out how I pictured it. I just wanted to say that you were right about Henry Griffin; he's absolutely the kind of student you want at Yale."

"The kind of student we want at Yale," Dr. Wincott begins in a tone that makes Jasper worry. "is the kind that puts his heart and soul into everything he does, regardless of how it may turn out."

Jasper's not smiling nearly big enough for that kind of compliment, so I'm beaming for him.

"I've got my eye on you, Bartlett." says Mr. Wincott before turning around and continuing across the exhibit.

Maggie and Henry walk over to Jasper, who's still trying to control his smile.

"So, guess we better get this stuff out of here," she says, a rolled-up poster in her hands.

"Yeah,"

"I know how we could save some time," offers Henry. "Wanna see?"

"NO!" blurts Jasper.

As I giggle at the resulting awkwardness, my phone rings.

"Yello?"

"Virva said I should wait until you call me, but I can't take it anymore! Are the kids okay? I know the victims survived, but how're _our _kids doing? Do I need to do anything to Zane? Did Henry really break into the Army Medical Repository? Tell me EVERYTHING."

I glance back at Henry, Maggie, and Jasper as I walk down a hall, talking to Carl. Surely I can leave them alone for a few minutes without them finding another adventure.

* * *

><p>1 I have no idea how to spell that word. Google failed me.<p> 


	8. Halloween

There's only one day out of the year that Immortals are allowed to scare the pants off regular people, and that's Halloween. It used to be on winter solstice, but then Christmas was invented. All that jolly holiday spirit kills the killing mood.

So Halloween is the day we monsters come out to play. That big beefy bully who terrorizes helpless geeks at school? Bring back the belief that there really _is_ a monster under his bed. Be sure to laugh maniacally as he runs out of his room screaming for his mommy. Those dumb punks who steal, do drugs, and think they're so gangsta? Chase after them while in werewolf form. Better yet, wait 'til they're totally stoned _and then_ chase after their sorry asses while in werewolf form. The jerk down the street that is really awful yet hasn't made the hit list? Make him think his house is haunted by a Poltergeist. Throw stuff, write freaky things on a fogged up mirror or window, nail all his socks to his bedroom wall in a cryptic pattern while he's at work... Just be creative. As long as no one innocent suffers death or a serious injury, you won't get in trouble. It'sawesome.

Sadly, I might have to skip the Halloween merriment this year. I can't ditch Henry just so I can scare a bunch of mortals; it wouldn't be responsible.

They've decided to hang out at the Bartlett house. Jasper and Maggie must want to keep Henry from finding any adventure tonight. I don't blame them; that bat-plague thing happened less than a week ago, and it's too soon to deal with something like that again. At least for Jasper and Maggie. People almost _died_.

Anyway, Uncle Bryan is at a thing for work, so the kids agreed to pass out the candy to trick-or-treaters. The big candy bowl is sitting on a little table by the door, and I've already stealthily picked out all the Reese's when they weren't looking.

The other thing about Halloween is the candy. There's a lot more of it, which is good for Immortals. Because of our inability to make body fat (our metabolisms are _insanely _fast) we usually go for the food with the highest calories. And it _is_ all about the calories: nutrition is a complete nonissue. So that basically means junk food. And candy is the _yummiest_ junk food. My favorite is Reese's, because chocolate and peanut butter are meant to be together.

_4__th__ Kind _plays in the living room. I watch intently and every once in a while I reach behind my head to get another Reese's cup from the hood of my leather jacket. The kids seem pretty into it, too. I smirk every time I see Maggie jump. After a while I try to ignore her, though, because it makes me wish I could sit on the couch with my arm around her so she can hide her face in my shoulder during the scary parts. I push away the stupid thought.

I'm comfortable where I am, my back against the wall like usual. And pretty content, too. The kids are safe, I've got candy, and this movie isn't half bad.

The doorbell rings. More trick-or-treaters! It's Maggie's turn to answer the door and I follow her excitedly. I love seeing those little munchkins in costumes, especially the really young ones. The last time Jasper answered the door, there was a toddler dressed as Minnie Mouse. She was SO CUTE! I had to resist the urge to take the bowl from Jasper and dump the whole thing into her little plastic pumpkin.

Maggie opens the door and there aren't any adorable kids in costumes. It's just a bunch of teenagers, the disrespectful kind who probably smash pumpkins. They're all wearing ugly rubber masks and dark clothes... and they smell like alcohol. These aren't Marked Ones, but they're definitely not decent, either. I hope Maggie has the good sense to close the door on them.

But she doesn't. Instead she lets them take candy from the bowl. She asks them to only take one piece, but they take handfuls. Still, she's not reacting. She's probably hoping they'll just leave after taking the candy.

Apparently not. A guy to the right lifts up his demon mask: lots of piercings, and an arrogant smirk. I glare at him over Maggie's shoulder. "I don't think I've seen you around before. Do you go to Arlington?"

"No." she answers curtly.

Okay, now close the door.

"Well then where do you go?" The zombie takes a few steps forward and removes his mask; long greasy black hair and a look that suggests he thinks he's actually attractive. "You in college, baby?"

I want to yell at them all to get off the damn porch, and I can tell Maggie wants to do the same. But she keeps a steady tone. "I'm in high school. Have a nice night."

She starts closing the door but another guy, a werewolf I think (I know a lot of Werewolves who would find that mask insulting), puts out his hand and stops her. For a second I consider breaking his wrist.

"Where you going? You haven't even told us your name yet."

I can hear all four of them laugh a little. Where are Jasper and Henry? I bet these hooligans will leave if Maggie had some backup. But the living room is towards the back of the house, and the TV may be too loud. I don't think they know what's going on.

Maggie tries to close the door again. Werewolf won't let her. These guys are starting to remind me of a pack of hyenas.

All right, that's it. I'd hate to leave Maggie by herself, but I've got to get Henry and Jasper.

I noiselessly walk to the living room. I can't very well use the remote to turn off the TV, because it's right next to Jasper and he'd notice if I did anything to it. I go to the TV and unplug it. The boys can't see the cord taken out of the wall; all they see is the screen go black. They're stunned for a moment, and a little confused. Then they hear the commotion at the front door and rush to Maggie's rescue. I follow after them and watch as the ruffians get uneasy at the sight of more people. Henry quickly forces the door shut and locks it. Maggie insists that it wasn't a big deal, that they were nothing to be afraid of, but I know better. She felt cornered, and maybe a little scared that they would try to get in the house.

They go back to the living room and try to figure out what happened with the TV. Turns out the plug came out of the socket. How did that happen? The movie starts back up and they continue watching it.

But I don't. I can't shake the anger I feel towards those guys who harassed Maggie. Maybe I will get to scare some people tonight.

After checking on them one last time, I go upstairs and jump out a window. Once I hit the ground, I start hunting for the hooligans.

I find them and I trail them for a while, contemplating what to do. Then they enter a condemned building. There's beat-up old furniture and a bunch of discarded beer cans. They sit down and the gargoyle starts rolling a joint.

Oh, this is _perfect_.

While waiting for a hit, the jerks start talking about their night: defacing property, stealing snacks from a 7-11, egging their teacher's car... my. It's only 8:15 and they've gotten so much done.

Then they get to the Bartlett house.

"Dude, that snobby bitch was so hot! Too bad she wasn't wearing a slutty Halloween costume like a normal girl..." says Zombie.

"Ah, man," drawls Gargoyle. "She was _so_ uptight."

"I bet I could loosen her up," claims Demon. His lewd, idiotic statement is met with whistles and cheers.

"Can't believe those damn guys had to come along and ruin the fun." Werewolf puts his feet up on the battered coffee table. "That bitch looked like she wanted me."

The annoying little bastards laugh at his half-joke, and I have to fervently remind myself that none of them are Marked.

I wait impatiently until they've all had a few hits before I throw the first beer can. It hits Demon in the nose and he curses. He starts looking at the others and demands to know who threw it. Then I throw another, this time at the back of Zombie's head. This causes more confusion.

"Who the **** is doing that?!" snarls Werewolf.

My, such language! I stand right in front of him and slap him hard in the face. As he clutches his bruised, stinging cheek, the rest of them stare in fear.

For a moment I think they'll run out of here screaming for their mommies, but dude, they're high and half-way to hammered. Common Sense is just kickin' back waiting for a show right now.

"There's something in here, man!" squeaks Gargoyle from his place on the dirty brown (once beige?) sofa.

I emphasize his point by banging my fist against the wall a few times. All four of them jump, but they're not leaving. They're scared, yeah, but also pissed off.

"Show yourself, mother****er!" yells Demon as he springs from his chair and whips out his switchblade.

Bitch, please. I rip his mask off him and throw it across the room. Then Demon totally loses it and starts slashing at thin air while his stupid buddies watch in terror and confusion. That's when I snatch his blade away and give him a swift kick in the pants. You know, before he hurts himself.

They all get really freaked out when I grab him and push him up the wall a few feet, plunging the knife into his hood. He hangs there on the wall, screaming his freaking head off, clearly too scared to realize he can easily slip out of his hoodie. Now the other three have decided they want to leave, but I run over and slam the door shut seconds before they reach it. Very, very quickly, I carve a simple message into the door with my four-inch carnassial claws:

RUN

They do. They run like scared little bitches to the window and throw themselves out like lemmings off a cliff. Thankfully it was open already. Unfortunately, it's only a few feet above the ground. As Gargoyle, Werewolf, and Zombie go tearing down the street like madmen, I wonder what to do with Demon; pathetic, lonely Demon, too stupid to wiggle out of his hoodie. Crying like a baby, begging for mercy. Promising he'll be good from now on.

Well, hot damn. He said the magic words.

I take the knife out of the wall and Demon clumsily drops to the floor with a _k-k-thump_. When he looks up he's able to just barely see me in the glowing lights from the streets, holding his knife and giving him a _tsk-tsk-tsk_ look.

"You're... you're just a teenager!" he says with more disbelief than indignity.

I close the knife and drop it next to him. "You better have meant what you said, or the next time I see you I might not be able to show you mercy."

He nods fearfully.

"And you and your friends will stay away from that house you went to before coming here."

Slightly confused this time, he nods again.

"Good. Now get your punk ass out of here."

Well, that was a nice warm-up. But seriously, I need to stay at home with the kids.

They're fine, by the way. Nothing bad happened to them while I was gone, except for whatever caused popcorn to be spilled all over the floor.

My cell phone rings and I leave the scream-filled living room to answer it.

"Hey D, me and Carl are heading your way."

"So he's trick-or-treating this year?"

"Of course. All the Shapeshifters do it. I even heard the Alpha is going as a three-year-old dressed as Eeyore."

She's right. Most Shapeshifters disguise themselves as children and go trick-or-treating, mainly for the free candy. And usually the cuter you are the more you get, so toddler is the age of choice. And apparently after the trick-or-treating is over, they go hunting for Marked Ones and Infernals... still looking like toddlers in cute costumes. It makes for the most bizarre hunting pictures, let me tell you.

"How's he been doing so far? Has he gotten a lot of candy?"

The squeals of small children precede her answer. "Tons. He says he's saving all the Reese's for you."

"Aw, how did he know I liked those?"

"Because I told him you did. He wanted to know what your favorite candy was."

"That's precious."

"He also said he really wanted you to take him to the Bartlett house."

"Why me? He's trick-or-treating with you."

"It's just one house. We're two houses down so you have time to get out and meet us. Oh, and then take him hunting. I'll keep an ear out for the kids."

"Alright." I huff. "What's he going as?"

"A five-year-old boy."

"Dressed as what?"

"...I'm going to let that be a surprise."

I cross the neighbor's lawn and spot Virva on the sidewalk. If she's going as anything, it's "a young hot mom": tailored black leather jacket, fitted black t-shirt with a little bed-sheet ghost on the chest, skinny jeans tucked into knee-high leather stiletto boots, and long wavy blond hair in a ponytail.

"Aren't those shoes killing you?" I ask as I move to stand beside her.

"I'm sure they would if I were mortal."

I survey the lawn in front of us, trying to figure out which one is Carl. Is he the pumpkin? Elmo? The adorable giraffe running clumsily in front of the pink teddy bear?

"Come on, Virva! Which one is he?"

She cracks a smile. "Just you wait. He'll be running back to us any minute."

The kids (and a few parents) are all crowded at the front door, waiting for their turn at the candy bowl and their chance to be complemented by the middle-aged lady doling out the goods. Soon they begin to disperse, and they all head to their respective parents on the sidewalk. The strange thing is, the only one heading towards us is the pink –

Oh, ****. Are you kidding me?

"Hi, Dimitri!" says the super-cute kiddie voice of the toddler-sized teddy bear with two hearts on its tummy.

I stare at the small grinning boy (… girl?) and realize it really _is_ Carl. He kept his same blue eyes and he's giving off that tell-tale Immortal vibe.

"Hi... buddy. That's a cool costume." It is, actually. He really does look like an actual teddy bear, with the fake fur and the stuffed look and everything. The whole body is one piece with a zipper in the back, and the detachable head kinda looks like it was cut off a big teddy bear. The only difference is that his little freckled face is peeking out of the wide-open mouth, so it looks like a plush toy ate a small child feet first.

"It's Immortal-made," Virva answers. "We got it in 1985, back when Care Bears were really popular."

"I even got a teddy bear paunch! " Carl says, turning to the side so I can see his convex teddy tummy.

"So... he's a Care Bear?" I thought that immediately, but I was hoping I was wrong.

Carl(y) nods enthusiastically, making his massive Care Bear head wobble slightly. "I'm Love-a-Lot! She's my favorite!"

"She?"

"Love-a-Lot is a girl." Virva says in a tone that suggests I should play along.

"I thought you said he was a five-year-old boy?" I whisper to her.

"I am." Carl says confusedly a couple feet below us.

"Well then why are you a girl Care Bear?"

"I told you, it's because she's my favorite." he says condescendingly, like I might be a little thick.

"And why is she your favorite?"

"Because I believe in the power of love!"  
>Oh, gods.<p>

I look at Virva. "Do I really have to go with him?"

"Yes."

"I can't argue my way out this?"

"No."

Tiny Carl is attempting to hold my hand, but his paws make that impossible. They're a little like Ken doll arms: the only way he can hold his candy bag is by putting the straps on his wrist and holding his arm out at a ninety-degree angle.

"Come on, Dimitri!" whines Carl, squishing my hand between his big paws, "I wanna go see the kids!"

Bless his little heart. He's really excited about this.

I take his candy bag and gently push him in the right direction. "Let's go give them something to laugh about."

"Wait up," We stop and Virva click-clicks over to us and hands me a small red drawstring bag. "Daisy wanted me to give this to you. 'Said even Shrouds should wear some kind of costume on Halloween."

I open the bag and inside is a simple black half-mask made of molded leather.

"It's Venetian," says Virva, taking the mask from me and securing it to my face with the black satin ribbons on the sides. "Not exactly ornate, but..." She turns me around and smiles. "It sure looks great on you. Fits you very well."

"Thanks."

Carl huffs impatiently. "Can we go now?"

We had taken long enough that the surge of small children had passed the Bartlett house before we got there, so it's just me and Carl on the porch.

"Okay, my name is Sterling and your name is Logan." Carl says as we ascend the stairs.

"What? Why can't we use our own names?"

"This is more fun."

Oh, whatever. "Fine, but why those names? Why am I _Logan_?"

"You look like a Logan."

"... Okay. And Sterling?"

"I think it sounds manly." says the boy wearing a Love-a-Lot Care Bear costume.

I ring the doorbell and hope they don't laugh at us too hard.

When Maggie opens the door, Carl smiles like the Cheshire Cat. I think he's about to put me through hell.

"Wow, you're _pretty_! Logan, ask her out on a date."

Oh, the humiliation. I'd kick his little teddy-bear ass if he wasn't five years old right now.

Maggie's blushing and half-way to laughing.

I can't believe I can even bring myself to look her in the eye. "Uh... sorry about him. He's five."

"And Logan's single!" Carl quips.

Dammit, Carl! I'm blushing now. The mask I'm wearing probably isn't hiding much of it.

"Your costume is so cute!" she says to Carl, clearly trying to ignore all the stuff he said before. "Are you a Care Bear?"  
>He smiles and nods. "Uh-huh. And Logan has a cool mask on. I don't know if you can tell, but he's really handsome under there. Really. Ladies swoon when they see him. And he can color inside the lines good too. Did I mention he's single?"<p>

I'm going to hurt him so very, very badly.

Maggie clears her throat and attempts to ease the tension. "He can color in the lines, huh? That's impressive."

"_And_ he makes a good grilled cheese. Do you like grilled cheese?"  
>Now she's having trouble not laughing at my pink teddy-bear wingman. "I sure do."<p>

"Sterling," I say in a totally non-lethal tone, "please get your candy so we can go."

"But I'm about to close!"

Maggie drops a few Snickers and a Milky Way in his bag.

"Are there any Reese's? They're Logan's favorite." Carl says as he surveys the candy bowl.

"Uh..." She rummages around in the bowl. "No, I guess we ran out."

"That's too bad. Can you give him your number then?"

"Time to go!" I interject as I sweep him into my arms. He wriggles around as I attempt to hold him like an oversized prize from a carnival game.

"No!" he cries obstinately. "You don't have her number yet!"

"I am so sorry about him." I apologize as I walk backwards towards the porch steps.

Thankfully, she's smiling. "Don't worry about it."

Just as the mortification is about to end, Jasper and Henry appear behind her.

Carl gasps. "More people! Hi!"

The guys exchange a furtive look before waving at the huge pink bear in my arms.

"I don't want to go yet, Logan! I want to sing them a song!"

Oh, _no_.

"Boop ba doop ba doop!" _Crap!_ "Boop ba doop ba doop! Ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, banana phone..."

Before he can continue, I twist his bear head around so it's on backwards. Carl protests loudly, his voice muffled by this costume head.

"Bye!" I say as I turn and hurry to the sidewalk, the big pink bear and his candy bag thrown over my shoulder. They're all too busy laughing to reply.

Once we're out of sight, I set him down and turn his bear head the right way.

"How was that helpful?" I ask angrily. "You were way too straightforward and we didn't even use our real names!"

He stares at me like the answer should be obvious. "That wasn't meant to be helpful. I was just having fun. Why else would we use fake names?"

You've gotta be kidding me.

"You did wonderfully, by the way." he continues. "You make a great straight man."

"Thanks," I reply, my anger waning. It wasn't that bad, and we did made the kids laugh.

Carl begins to rock on his heels. "So... can we go hunt Marked Ones now?"

I quickly text Virva, telling her we're going hunting. "Sure."

Carl insisted on wandering aimlessly, so it's a quarter 'til ten and we still haven't found anything. And I've had to walk around in public with a small child in a Care Bear costume who won't stop singing "This is Halloween".

"Dude," I nudge his head. "If you don't want to go invisible, then we might need to get you home. People are probably wondering why you're up past your bedtime."

He ponders this as we reach an intersection, then delays his response by checking out the back of a van sitting two cars ahead of us. It looks like one of those rocktastic, mural-covered vans that hippies or hard rockers drive. There's a blue dragon on the back doors.

Carl and I hurry along so we can see it from the side before the light turns green.

Dude. It's so absurdly epic. A scantily-scad warrior-princess-sorceress is riding a black, two-headed dragon. "Indigo Children" by Puscifer blares from the stereo.

One step closer, and suddenly we realize we'll be hunting after all.

There are four Marked Ones in the van, and they plan to sacrifice their unwittingly kidnapped virgin to the devil. Clearly they've seen _Jennifer's Body, _but they must not have watched the credits, which is why they think what they're doing is a good idea.

"Yo," I call to the driver as I get closer to the door. "Sweet ride."

At first he freaks a bit, but then he decides my bizarre cat eyes are part of my costume. He finds it harder to believe about Carl, though.

"Thanks." He tosses his stringy mane. "It's for my band."

The light turns green and he gives me a quick nod.

Once he's off, I glance at Carl. "You game?"

He gives me a sinister, un-Carl-like smirk. "Dibs on the front man."

We turn invisible and I sprint after the van, Carl in one arm. They eventually end up in Glover Archbold Park, far from the city. Carl and I watch patiently as they hand out flashlights before ushering out and leading a pretty, innocent-looking teenage girl up a dirt trail. She's dressed as a slightly slutty version of Alice from _Alice in Wonderland_. The spiky-haired guy from the passenger seat keeps reassuring her that they're going to have fun. A guy with drumsticks tucked into his belt keeps adjusting the straps of the heavy-looking backpack on his shoulder.

"We're almost there," says Front Man.

But it's late, dark, and cold. Virgin is beginning to worry. "It might be dangerous out here." she says.

Drummer flashes a smile. "That's what makes it so fun. Don't be such a downer."

The guy with the big purple mohawk, whom I'm assuming is the bassist, backs him up. "Yeah, babe. That's your problem. You need to learn to relax."

Peer pressure and the need to be liked by the opposite sex wins out and she follows them in silence.

Soon they go off the trail, stomping through the woods and laughing like imbeciles. Virgin isn't laughing so much as pretending to feel okay.

"Let's slaughter them like the filthy pigs they are." Carl suggests calmly. He's kind of worrying me. This isn't the Carl I'm used to.

"Once they have her tied up, I'll go sneak her away while you distract them."

"Why don't I get to save the poor girl?" he asks, the Carlness back in his voice.

"I think a Care Bear holding out its paw to her and saying, 'Come with me if you want to live.' might be a little too much for her."

He raises his eyebrows, considering it. "Point taken."

Now they've stopped at a huge log, and the band members are looking at each other. Front Man nods, and Drummer takes off the backpack and starts taking stuff out. Candles, a lighter, some rope, a bandana... and a brutal, six-inch hunting knife.

I can hear Virgin's heart beating like crazy. "What's that stuff for?" she asks, trying to stay calm.

Guitarist and Bassist grab hold of her and drag her to the log. She screams for help over and over again as they pin down her arms and legs.

"No one can hear you." drawls Front Man.

Drummer ties her securely to the log and stuffs the bandana in her mouth. Her screams turn to whimpers and tears as she realizes calling out is useless.

"Tonight," Front Man begins with gusto as his bandmates gather around him. "We will secure our fate. With this act, we will guarantee our fame. The Throbbing Cocks deserve to be legendary!"

Carl and I burst out laughing, despite the mortal peril. The Throbbing Cocks? Is that really the name of their band? They do deserve to die.

As Front Man is handed the knife, I make Carl visible and he goes tottering over to the douche bag twenty-somethings musicians. They're dumbstruck, and Front Man almost drops the knife.

"What the hell?" Guitarist mutters.

Carl the Care Bear just stands there, buying me time so I can save Little Miss Human Sacrifice. He begins to shoot the breeze with them as I pull the bandana out of her mouth. She gasps, and then I conceal her so we can talk. She shivers at the dull pins-and-needles feeling of turning invisible. Not that she knows she's invisible, of course.

"What are you?" she whispers.

"Either a guy in a mask or an avenging angel. Take your pick." I reply as I slash at the rope around her ankle with my claws. She gapes at me, too grateful to really fear me. "Uh... okay, so I'm definitely not just a guy in a mask."

"Your eyes..." Virgin stares at my glowing nocturnal eyes, trying to understand.

I'm glad it's Halloween so I can stretch the rules. "I don't have a flashlight."

She looks over at the diabolical band and registers the presence of my five-year-old sidekick. "That kid! You have to help him!"

"Trust me, he can handle them." I finish the last rope and help her up. None of the musicians have looked over since Love-a-Lot started talking.

I pick her up and carry her so I don't have to worry about her falling. She purses her lips, afraid to make noise, even though we've been talking and they haven't caught us. She must be too reluctant to hope that I can save her.

I give the band a wide berth as I walk around them. Terrified of them after knowing what they were about to do to her, she buries her face in my neck.

"I'm going to get you out of here, okay? My friend will deal with them."

Virgin finally gets a good view of Carl's face, and sees that his eyes are also glowing in the dark. "He's not just a kid, is he?"

"Smart girl."

Once we're a good distance away, I hear Carl laugh maniacally.

"My name's not Care-a-Lot, you silly nuggets! That's where the Care Bears live." The musicians laugh uneasily, still confused and unsure what to make of that freaky five-year-old.

"My name is Love-a-Lot," Uh-oh, here it comes. "and you're gonna die now!"

I run fast so Virgin can't hear the roars and screams.

In minutes we're at the van, and she's shaking. I take my leather jacket off and put in on her for warmth.

"Where's your phone?"

She sniffles and starts to root around in the back of the carpeted van. She finds it on top of the snare drum.

"Where do your parents think you are?" I ask as I canvass the van, looking for their iPods.

"A sleepover." She bites her lip to keep from sobbing. "My friend, Tess, convinced me to go to a costume party she heard about. She lent me this costume because my parents would never let me wear something like this. There I met Donny, the guitarist. He said I was cool and wanted to hang out. Tess said I should go have fun for once and come back to her house later. Then Donny took me to meet his band members..." Her breath hitches as tears gush from her eyes.

Aha! I've found two: a naked black nano and a classic in a red silicone sleeve. I pocket them and crawl out of the van.

"Considering how my friend is taking care of the problem, you might need to keep this to yourself. Especially the part about us."

"You mean the part about how I was saved by a masked avenger and a homicidal child in a Care Bear suit? Your secret's safe with me."

I give her a light chuckle. "So what will you tell Tess?"  
>"That Donny kicked me out of the van and I had to walk all the way to her house. She only has a permit so I couldn't get her to pick me up, anyway. And no way could I tell my parents."<p>

I nod. "Good plan. And don't worry; we'll make sure you won't be suspect in their murders."

Apparently still in a state of shock, she laughs. "That's sweet of you."

After running her to her friend's house in Arlington at seventy miles per hour (thereby insuring that she couldn't feasibly be placed at the crime scene), I remind Lucy not to get in vans with strangers. Or to listen to Tess ever again. Once I know she's safe, I dash back to the woods to see what Carl has done to The Throbbing Cocks.

Well, he definitely had too much fun.

Bassist is hanging by his ankle from a tree, suspended by some rope used to hold Lucy down. His throat is slashed and blood is still dripping into a bashed-in snare drum. Chunks of his mohawk have been ripped out.

Guitarist has been carved up like a Thanksgiving turkey, the hunting knife stuck in the ground next to him. His nose, lip, and eyebrow piercing were torn out. Three of the candles were scraped out of their glass containers and his blood poured in them.

Drummer has a drumstick jutting from his left eye, and he's been disemboweled by something with sharp teeth.

And Front Man... wow. He was the worst of them, and Carl certainly treated him that way. He's just _everywhere._

Hey, where's their executioner?

Suddenly, Carl zooms out of the darkness, cackling gleefully and covered in viscera.

"Woohoo!" he yells as he jumps around the crime scene. Man, he is _hyper. _I know he's excited, but... wait.

I quickly zip around, tasting each band mate's blood. Woah! Drummer was diabetic.

That's just perfect. The one thing that can give an Immortal a wicked sugar rush, and Carl manages to find it.

"I wanna fight a rhino!" he screams.

Oh, well. I'll let him burn himself out and he'll crash in an hour. I grab a "glass" of blood and gulp it down, still trying to understand what happened here. Killing is a normal thing for us, I mean it's what we do, but... this is pretty scary. He played with them first. Not necessarily a bad thing, but not quite encouraged, either. I won't jump to conclusions and think he'll rebel, but this is still odd behavior.

After finishing the glasses, I move to the snare drum. Between gulps, I eye Bassist's shirt; it's got a big colorful Day of the Dead skull on it. I figure that's pretty cool, so I take it. And put it in Carl's candy bag.

Carl's still speeding around the woods, and does so for another twenty-three minutes. Then all of a sudden he collapses, passed out and purring.

I pick him up, grab his candy bag, and take him to his and Virva's place above the butcher shop. After I get all the blood off of me, I head to the Bartlett house with my corpse-looted shirt.

It's around midnight, and I find Virva in a big pine tree not far from the house. She jumps down gracefully and we have a quick talk.

"Look! I got a new shirt." I announce, showing her the big flamboyant skull.

She nods appreciatively. "Nice,"

"So," A bit to breach the subject, I look down and fold up my shirt. "Carl isn't always all hugs and kisses, is he?"

"I've told you—"

"You didn't tell me it was that bad."

She sighs. "He's split, okay? One percent of Shapeshifters get that way when they Turn, and for obvious reasons no one likes to talk about it. He's only scary like that when he's hunting Marked Ones and Infernals. He's safe, I promise."

"I know. I was just wondering." I say gently. My implication was a serious one that no Elder likes to consider. But I trust her judgment and know that the Alphas wouldn't have made him a Watcher if he was a risk. "Is it also the reason he acts like a child?"

"Yeah, it is." She licks her lips, looking eager to get off the subject. "Well, the kids have been angels all night, and they're asleep now. Maggie left at about ten-thirty."

"Thanks, Verve."

"Later."

I climb my favorite oak tree. After stuffing my new shirt into my backpack, which I've left in the tree all night, I curl up on a wide branch. Soon I feel myself drift off to sleep, hopefully not doing that embarrassing purring thing Immortals do instead of snoring.


	9. New Past

Your new past is here.

I swallow hard as I read the text from Daisy. Helle's here? So soon? Alpha Vampire told me she'd be here with the implants the first week of November, but still; November only started ten hours ago.

Can this wait til after school?

Chemistry is next and they might blow stuff up today.

Do you really want to keep Helle waiting?

Ugh.

On my way.

Snakes slither around in my stomach as I approach the flower shop. I like Helle, really, but she's so… intimidating. She can read every thought you've ever had just by being near you, and when you pair that with perfect memory, you've got a girl with everyone's history locked away in her noggin. She reminds me of the Files-and-Records chick from that one _Angel_ episode. And then there's this "memory implant" thing she developed about two thousand years ago; it's a delayed racial power, like how Shrouds are able to Shield after they turn five-hundred and fifty.

Plenty of people envy her for her omniscient ability, but I think the coolest thing is that it means she can speak Baby. I wish I could speak Baby.

"She's waiting upstairs." Daisy says as I enter the shop. She's finishing up a white bouquet for an older man in an Air Force uniform. We share a polite smile as I pass him on my way up.

As I descend the stairs, I attempt to squash my trepidation. Everyone feels uneasy around her, and I bet it hurts her feelings. It's bad enough that she's the only one of her kind; she doesn't need us fearing her as well.

When I open the door to the apartment, I see her sitting on the floral-cushioned wicker couch that faces the opposite wall. Her caramel-blonde hair is pinned up in an artfully messy bun. She turns to look at me, flashing a knowing smile.

"I admire the effort, but I can still hear your heart pounding in your chest."

Blushing, I enter the room. "Hello, Helle."

"Callooh, Kalais." She covers her mouth to muffle a giggle. "I'm sorry, but you've stumbled upon a joke I share with Alpha Shapeshifter."

I feel my tension easing as I walk over to Madam Alpha and take a seat next to her. She's wearing a cream shift dress with a purple patent-leather belt and matching four-inch almond-toe pumps. I think the blue tights are a bit much, but she makes it work.

"Do you think so? I almost didn't wear the tights." She smirks in a your-secret's-safe-with-me kind of way. "You rarely pay attention to that type of thing, but when you do, you're scary accurate. Strange for a boy who dresses so plainly to know so much about fashion. Or décor, for that matter. I bet you know the brands, too."

Chanel dress and Manolo heels. "Not a clue."

"You're adorable. We should go shopping together."

Embarrassed, I clear my throat. "So about my memory implants…"

She raises an eyebrow. "Alright, I'll stop emasculating you."

"Thank you. Would you mind tell me how this works? Actually, I'm more curious as to why I need them, since it's usually considered a measure only for Immortals living mortal lives in the public eye. Is it 'cause I'm a Watcher that I get the Mortal Deluxe Package? Do the fake memories eventually fade? Does it hur—"

Without warning, Helle touches her fingertips to my temples.

After I'm done screaming into a throw pillow in blinding pain, Helle smooths my hair comfortingly.

"It's better if you don't brace yourself."

"I'll take your word for it." I sit up, still hugging the pillow. After a moment I blink, wondering why I don't feel different.

"The fake memories are buried; you have to activate them."

How?

Uncharacteristically shy, Helle hangs her head and fiddles with the large opal ring on her right middle finger. "You must first exhume the real memories they're based on."

I lick my lips. "I'm not going to like this, am I?"

"Not most of it, no."

Dimitri, dear," Oh, no. Please, not that. "Tell me about your mortal life and your Turning."

Suddenly I'm sweating and my heart does a swan dive into my stomach. "I thought it's rude to ask someone about their Turning."

"This is an exception."

"I don't want to."

She takes my hand reassuringly, and I remember how very empathetic her power makes her. "Trust me."

I frown fearfully at her; revisiting intense memories can lead to strong flashbacks.

"Once you're done telling me, you'll be able to remember the fake one. Then you'll tell me the implanted memory."

I take a deep breath and tighten my grip on her hand.

"I was born in a village in the shadow of Mount Narodnaya in 1472. My father was Mstislav and my mother was Anya. I had ten siblings and was the youngest of five brothers. I married at sixteen, became a father at seventeen."

"What happened three months after your son was born?"

My throat's dry now. "Two of my brothers and I were on our way back from trading in another village. Soon we saw smoke rising, and as we drew nearer we saw everything was on fire. Burnt, mutilated bodies were strewn everywhere. A Giant emerged from the smolder when we arrived." I can smell the smoke and burning flesh, hear its shrill roar as he thunders towards us. "It's twice the size of our houses, all deformed and gnarled, with patches of oozing flesh and scaly skin. It has an upturned nose like a swine's and teeth like a wolverine's. On its hunched back is a row of knobby protrusions the color of rotting meat. It seizes my older brother and bites him in half. Then it chases after Pavel and me. The Giant swats him away like a fly and… its claws are digging into my side. I can't scream; its grip is too tight. It's lifting me to his open mouth. Its teeth are as big as my hand. Everything's dark, everything hurts—"

Helle has her arms around me, my head on her chest. I didn't realize that I had closed my eyes— or that I've been speaking in Medieval Russian for the last few sentences. I was there again, and if Helle hadn't calmed me down to bring me back, I don't know what would've happened.

"The Giant ate you, and you Turned posthumously in his stomach." Oh, bless her. She's going to finish for me. "Then you burst from his abdomen and slayed him by drinking his blood. You searched your village, but there were no survivors. Desolate, you buried yourself in the ashes, waiting to die. Your Elder, Indira, found you two days later."

Glad that the worst is over, I gently remove her arms from around my shoulders and sit upright. How long have I been crying? My cheeks are wet, and so is a spot on the front of her dress. I hope I haven't ruined it.

"I'm sure it'll be fine, sweetheart. Now tell me the implant."

It slowly floats to the surface, becoming clearer. "I was born in Pskov, Russia, in 1993. My father was Mstislav, my mother was Anya. Ten siblings. When I was seven, my mother was working the night shift at the hospital and I was at a sleepover. There was a fire at my house; my father and siblings couldn't get out. Arson suspected, ruled as faulty wiring."

Immediately the old, true memories are greatly suppressed; I can barely feel them as these more vivid yet obviously fabricated ones take their place.

"Better, huh? I know they're still pretty bad, but compared to the real ones—"

"They're far more bearable. Thanks, Helle."

She smiles. "Tell me where you lived for most of the Nineteenth Century."

Oh, a benign one. "England, but mainly London. That's where I helped my Ward hunt down Jack the Ripper."

"Now the implant."

"After the fire, my mother and I went to live with her younger sister in London." Pleh. Why do I have to suppress my super badass memory with this boring one?

Helle rolls her eyes. "Look harder. Where did you go on your ninth birthday?"

"I—" Oh, gods, I… my eyes must be popping out of my head right now. "My mother and Aunt Ivanna took me to a Quidditch match. Puddlemere United versus Falmouth Falcons. The Snitch hit the Puddlemere Keeper in the eye before getting caught, and one Falcon Beater played half the game with a broken hand. Helle, you are so cool."

She shakes her head in modesty. "It was nothing, really. You probably shouldn't tell mortals about it, though."

"I can remember eating chocolate frogs and watching one fall to its death from the nosebleed section. I can remember seeing the Snitch flit by and the Puddlemere Seeker speeding after it. I don't care that I can't tell anyone; I saw a damn Quidditch match."

"Well, I'm glad you enjoy it." Helle replies with a giggle. "But we're going to have to discuss Dorothy now."

As in…?

"Your adopted daughter, yes."

"She was born on a sinking ship on April 14th, 1912."

Helle smiles, a hint of sadness in her expression. "As fascinating a tale that is, I'm afraid we'll have to skip forward a few years."

I know what she's probably referring to, but I'll play dumb a little longer. "I raised her with a Gorgon named Renette, who became my best friend. We didn't hide our powers from Dorothy, but we did lie and tell her we were from Never Neverland. She believed that until she was fourteen."

"Dimitri—"

"Renette had to leave when Dorothy was eleven because her Ward Turned."

"That's not what I mean and you know it."

"Dorothy dated a gangster in 1928 just to piss me off—"

"Dimitri, tell me about 1953." I think Helle might be annoyed at my childishness, but she's being understanding.

"I'm not annoyed, dear; I just want to help you."

I hang my head, trying to brace myself. "We were living in D.C., only a few blocks from here. She was old enough to pass as my mother by that time, so I thought I might try being a teenager for a while. She had no problem with it; Dorothy had always wanted to be a mother, but for some reason she had never settled down. So we switched roles. Things were going well until Renette came back."

"With her Vampire Ward."

I nod. "Kendra. I knew she was a risk, but like Renette I hoped she only needed time to adjust. She was quite an attention whore."

Helle plays with her gold bangles. "I thought the same thing when I examined her."

"Kendra never liked competition, either; which is what Dorothy apparently was. Renette was always doting on the daughter she had to abandon, and I… well, Kendra blamed Dorothy for my disinterest in her. Kendra refused to believe in the concept of Belonging. I told her I just didn't think of her that way, and she said it was because I was too wrapped up in looking after my daughter."

"And so she got her revenge." Helle murmurs as she fixes her gray-green eyes on mine.

A chill runs up my spine. "Eventually, so did I. Renette and I came home to the smell of fresh human blood. When I entered Dorothy's room, I saw her lying on the bed, her wrists cut deep. She looks like she could be sleeping, except for all the blood. I rush to her side thinking maybe I can still save her; she's still warm. But she's not breathing. Her heart's not beating. There's a note on the bedside table that begins with 'To Whom It May Concern'. I failed her. I'm responsible for her and I failed her. I didn't make her happy. Renette finally comes in; I hadn't yelled for her because I was in shock. She's shattering in front of me. My poor, delicate Renette, who grew up in a convent. I've failed her, too. I hold Dorothy's hands in mine; her fingers are getting cold. Where's her ring? She loves her ring. Pierre Cartier gave it to her. He said that diamonds like her very much. Kendra loves that ring, too… Oh, no. This will destroy Renette; I know it will. Her first Ward rebelled. I should've known. I did know. I could've stopped this. This is worse. This is worse. It's all my fault. My baby girl is dead and it's all my fault. I didn't protect her. I'm weak. I'm weak. My father was right—"

Helle's hand on mine snaps me back to reality. "And then you went after Kendra, dismembered her, and she was taken to be buried in the Valley of the Fallen. After the funeral, Renette decided to go to the Cave." she says softly.

Aw, dammit; I've been crying again. I wipe away the stupid tears with the back of my hand. I'm looking forward to the fake memory. "When I was twelve and a half, I came back from grocery shopping with my aunt. I saw my mother sitting in her rocking chair by the window. At first I thought she was asleep but then I saw the bl—Wait a second! That's not the significant improvement I was hoping for!"

She scoffs at my indignant glare. "Hey! I gave you Quidditch!"

Oh… yeah. I guess that does balance things out a bit.

"Sorry," I say, fighting the urge to negotiate an adventure in the TARDIS.

Amused by my cuteness, she chuckles. "Tell me about New Orleans."

Uh oh. "Seriously?"

She gives me her trademark Mona-Lisa smile. "You know this is a fun one."

"I, um… After Dorothy's funeral, I didn't know what to do with myself. So I hung around her tombstone for a month. Then Titus the Minotaur heard what happened and came to try and help me. He said we should go down to New Orleans, where I could get some absinthe. It's not strong enough to get an Immortal really drunk, he said, but it'll help make things fuzzy; I could save the pain for later, when the memories weren't as fresh. He promised to make sure I didn't do anything stupid or endanger anyone. It worked, I guess. Then he convinced me to go to a burlesque hall. That's where all the interesting stuff started. I can't remember the details clearly, but… I went home with one of the dancers. She was nice and kind of wild. Apparently she told the other girls about how… talented… I was, because soon I was seeing all fifteen of them. They worked out a schedule and everything." I scratch the back of my head. "I seriously have no idea how the hell that happened."

Helle chuckles and covers her eyes. "You honestly don't."

I smile subtly. "I kicked the drinking habit pretty quickly, since the girls were way more affective. I stayed until 1958."

"You were dark then."

Feigning innocence, I narrow my eyes in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"What happened with Dorothy still took its toll. You weren't close to rebelling, but… You weren't exactly a goody-two-shoes anymore. Torturing Marked Ones became a pastime. And those girls… My, you sure knew how to please them. Sometimes concurrently."

"I wouldn't say_ concurrently_—"

"More than one at a time, anyway. Who would've guessed that adorable little Dimitri would ever get dirty with a bunch of dancers? You naughty, naughty boy."

Slightly annoyed, I raise an eyebrow at her. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

She shrugs. "Everyone enjoys that story. They don't call you 'Burly-Q' at the Golden Underground for nothing."

I will be forever mocked for my manwhore phase.

"Why does the implant feel blurry?"

"Because there's more to review. You've spent a lot of time in Las Vegas, yes?"

Grinning, I lean back and rest my head on the top on the couch. "Some of the best hunting grounds in North America. You've got all the Marked Ones in the city and the various Infernals in the surrounding desert—"

"What's the name of the Immortal-owned Neo-Burlesque Hall in Las Vegas?"

I stifle a laugh. "The Golden Apple."

"Care to expound?" she asks teasingly, twisting a loose lock around her finger.

"It's huge. Run by Lori Lux the Shapeshifter. Like most Immortal-owned businesses, the manager lives above the establishment; in the case of The Golden Apple, that includes the ten Immortal dancers. After my post-abeyance education, they invited me to live with them for four-and-a-half years, much to everyone's amusement." Oh, dear. I see where this is going.

A Cheshire-Cat grin spreads across Helle's face. "Implant time."

Apprehensive, I do as she says. "After my mother committed suicide, my aunt decided she couldn't take care of me. So, because apparently she's an idiot, I was sent to live with her old friend Lori Lux, who was made my guardian. It was a strange place to go through puberty. And worse, I was forced to be homeschooled. Those dancers ended up being my only friends as well as my new family. Honestly, Helle, do we really have to take this road? You know that place is a glorified strip club."

She pouts, mocking me. "But you love it there."

"How could I not? I was around a bunch of Immortal girls all the time."

"Oh, just finish already. We're almost done."

Rolling my eyes, I continue. "I was about fifteen when they started seeing me differently. Scarlett was first, and the rest followed happily after. I had no problem with it; I was a pubescent boy surrounded by hot girls who adored me. And, you know, it was fun. A lot of fun. Lori Lux still treated me the same; I was like her son in a way. But she didn't have a problem with me being her dancers' little 'rooster'. We were all happy, so it didn't matter. Then MC Romeo Poison found out, and he threatened to call the police. So, Lori Lux sent me to live with her obscure relative, Daisy, in late September of this year."

"And now you have a somewhat normal life."

"I'm still homeschooled, though. Oh, and by the way… My family died in a fire, by mother committed suicide, my aunt abandoned me, and I was molested. What the hell?! How can Maggie be expected to like me with a past like mine?"

"It kind of sounds like you think you're not good enough for her."

"Oh, really? Why on earth would I think that? She'll only run away screaming if she ever found out any of this stuff—and this is the watered-down mortal version. I am such a colossal freak."

"You'll have to lie to her enough as it is. And the best lies are—"

"The ones closest to the truth, I know." I run my fingers through my hair. "Can't you still give me something normal?"

Pursing her lips, Helle picks at an imaginary fuzz ball on a throw pillow. "Implants work best when they're based on powerful memories. I only had what you gave me to work with. If I gave you something that didn't have a firm foundation in your memories, it would blur and you'd become confused."

Oh, that's great. I'm given a new past that's gentler than the old one, and it still sucks balls.

"It's not so bad," she cajoles, playfully slapping my arm. "You really enjoyed that bit in Vegas."

"I now have hot, sexy memories of my _friends._ That's creepy."

"When I told The Golden Apple Girls about your fabricated memories of them, they thought it was hilarious."

AH! "Why did you tell them?!"

"Don't worry, I didn't tell them about Watcher business; just that you need memory implants for an assignment. I told them because I thought they'd get a kick out of it."

"You're a mean lady."

Not the least bit offended, she leans forward and plants a kiss on my forehead. "That concludes our memory session. It's been lovely seeing you, darling." She stands and grabs her little purple patent-leather purse. "There's a bag on your bed for you."

After slipping on her Jackie-O glasses, Helle click-clicks her way to the door. It's then that I remember what I'd been meaning to ask her.

"I know you've seen more red flags concerning Maggie and Henry, so don't bother asking if all of this really is necessary." she says, turning to look at me. "Trust me, sweetheart, we've done our research on Maggie," The corner of her lip curves upward. "I may have even met her when you and Carl weren't around last night." _What?!_ "My baby brother insisted on going to the Bartlett House. What a cute Eeyore he was!"

I feel my eyebrows go _way_ up. "So… you read her?"

She nods. "Best to be really sure before proceeding with our plan. Not that it's any guarantee, of course. But what I found was quite reassuring."

"…What did you find?"

Once again she flashes me her Mona-Lisa smile, and leaves without another word.

$#* &%!

"I heard that!" she shouts from the other side of the door as she descends the stairs.

Laughing, I go to my room to see what's in the big brown paper shopping bag.

It's my life, kinda: family photos, knick-knacks, stuff like that.

The first thing I see is a simple black wallet. All that's inside is a new driver's license with my picture on it. Thankfully, I look pretty good. I guess it was decided that I should keep my name… right down to my Immortal-given surname. How did they even fit the whole thing on the card?

Most of the pictures are burnt around the edges, like they were salvaged. And… wow. It's them. The Alphas had Shapeshifters pose as my actual family for these pictures. It's so strange to see them modernized and… well, it's strange to see them. There's even a younger me in here, and in one of them I'm standing next to a gorgeous little girl who I now remember as being my neighbor. Oh, gods; it's Yeva. It's the toddler version on my wife. The picture stirs up fake memories of teasing her and real memories of her admitting that she didn't mind marrying me.

Crap. I'm getting choked up again. After stowing the photos in their beat-up cigar box, I move on to the other stuff.

Next stop: London. There's a framed picture of my mother, my Aunt Ivanna (who looks like Renette), and me at the Tower of London. I must be about twelve years old. My mother's smile doesn't reach her eyes, and now I'm remembering being thirteen and looking at this, wondering why I hadn't noticed sooner.

Hmm, Britishy things. A little Big Ben, a wind-up Buckingham Palace guard, a wee bitty British flag… oh, yes. This is all undeniable proof that I've lived in London. I used to be British! Look! Look at my little flag! God save the queen! Whoa, I just fake remembered what I sounded like speaking British English with a Russian accent. _Weird_. By the time I had my British accent down, I was sent to America.

Oh, boy! On to Vegas! There's a gold leather photo album, and as I open it I feel happy and warm; it's my family, the one that's still living. There're no bad memories: no dying, no wrist cutting, no abandonment. I know that they love me and miss me.

As I flip through, I can recall taking most of these with the camera Auntie Lori Lux gave me when I first arrived. Some are of the Strip lit up at night, others are of random strangers that I thought looked photogenic, a few are of the desert, but most are of the girls. Candid, posing, goofing off… every picture reminds me of how protective and caring they were. And that I thought they were angels. A few of these were taken by one of them, because there's one where I'm helping Tisiphone lace up her corset backstage, and another where Jezebel J'Adore is teaching me how to braid her hair. It's weird because I actually did do stuff like this with them.

I saved the framed poster underneath the bag for last. It's for The Golden Apple, and it's very vintage and vaudevillian with its elaborate lettering and muted colors. All of them are featured: pin-up pretty Scarlett the Harlot; Kitty Divine in her cat ears and whiskers; baby-faced Sukie Sweetheart in corn-silk-blonde pigtails; the femme fatale Jezebel J'Adore; cocoa-colored Glamazon Angelique Mystique; The Scrumptious Twins, Caramel Rita and Tiramisu; Cherry Pop with her bright red hair; Roxy Cottontail in her bunny ears and fluffy tail; and leather-clad, whip-wielding Tisiphone, the biggest bad-ass I've ever met.

Damn, I really miss that crazy bunch of bitches.

Even though I'm eager to get back to school, I take a few minutes to put everything on shelves or in drawers. There's a nail at the bottom of the bag, and I push it in to the wall with my thumb so I can hang the poster.

My own room, all this stuff, a mostly new identity… and it's all because of one mortal girl with a crush. There must be some kind of storm brewing, some kind of dangerous possibility that no one's telling me about. Then again, maybe the Alphas are just being careful; every Immortal knows that if you have to lie, you shouldn't be half-assed about it.

There are two old biddies shuffling around the shop when I get downstairs. Just when I think I'll get to leave without talking to Daisy, she comes in from the Junglehouse.

She gives me a secretive smile. "Oh, I'm glad I caught you." I'm not. "Come in the greenhouse so we can talk."

Pouting, I follow her sunset-orange heels into her leafy lair. "Hit That" by The Offspring is playing from barely visible speakers all over the room.

"I play music for the plants every weekday morning," she answers after seeing my confused expression. "Chrysanthemums always pick every first Monday of the month."

"Okay," Nymphs are so weird.

"So," she begins, idly stroking an oversized lily petal. "Helle wanted me to tell you congratulations on getting a new Ward."

I feel all the color drain from my face. "Um…"

"Apparently you've known for a while and decided not to tell anyone. Did you think we wouldn't care?"

"I… I just don't want to talk about him. Please, Daisy."

Rolling her cinereous eyes, she starts to play with the pendent on her necklace. "He can't be that bad, can he? Nobody's perfect—"

"Hunter's a bully." Wow, that shut her up. "And he's really stupid, too."

Daisy gulps and tries to regain her composure. "That doesn't necessarily mean he'll… uh…"

"Rebel?"

"Right. I'm sure there's hope for him. He may be different by the time he actually Turns."

I utter a short, humorless laugh. "Whatever,"

Briefly lost in thought, Daisy bites her lip. Then she gazes at me like she knows what I'm thinking. "Try to have a little faith in him. You're his Elder; you owe him that."

"Yeah?" I feel my jaw tightening. "Well I owe it to everyone else to learn from my mistakes."

Resigned, and, I suppose, understanding, Daisy nods in agreement. "Alright."

As I turn to leave, she stops me. "Helle also said you have to start talking to Maggie this week."

"Okay," I reply, opening the door to the shop.

"If you need any girl advice—"

"Bye, Daisy!" And I'm out on the street before she can say any more.


	10. Meeting Her

Guess what today is!

Ugh. What does Daisy want? The kids aren't even at school yet and she's already bugging me.

Wednesday?

Besides that.

I give up.

It's the day you're going to talk to Maggie!

NO.

YES. Helle told me when she visited on Monday. She also told me about your life, Burly-Q. Now get over here so I can make sure you're adorable.

Are you really encouraging a manwhore to chat up an innocent young lady?

DON'T SASS ME, BOY.

Once inside, she drags me upstairs and to my bedroom.

"Take off your clothes." she orders. I obediently strip down to my underwear, and that's when I really register how dirty my clothes are. My jacket isn't too bad, but it has some grime embedded in the creases. The shirt I stole from the bassist still has bloodstains, and the hems of my mutilated jeans are muddy.

I patiently stand next to the bed, watching as Daisy flits about, planning my outfit. It's like it's my first day at kindergarten or something.

"Hmm, I like these jeans; they have both hige and honeycomb fading, and they're not all ripped up. But then these dark ones here are so clean-cut…"

Jeez. Is it really that difficult? I normally choose my clothes based on what's cleanest.

"Daze, I don't think I need help with this."

"Oh, yes you do." she answers sternly as she decides on the hige-honeycomb pair and throws them on the bed. "Go take a shower. I'll have everything ready for you when you get out."

With an eye roll, I head to the ducky-themed bathroom. After turning on the water, and, of course, playing with the rubber ducky while the water warms, I get in and scrub up. As I close my eyes and lean back so my face is under the flow, I hear a loud peep.

I look down and see Colonel Quack-Quack staring up at me. How did he even get in?! I closed the door; I didn't even hear it open. Was he hiding in here? That creepy duck.

_Peep!_

"Um, get out."

He shakes his head. No, really; he actually shakes it. Did I mention that Chimeras understand human language?

"Dude, you're making me uncomfortable. Get the hell out."

He ignores me and flaps his little wings, enjoying the water that splashes on him. I give up and try to pretend he's not here.

When we get out of the bathroom, the Colonel waddling ahead of me, Daisy sees him and starts cooing like an idiot.

"Aw, did my widdle Quack-Quack take a shower, too?"

"He snuck in. Will you please tell him not to do that again?"

But Daisy's not listening; she's picked him up and now she's walking back into my room. Irritated, I follow after her.

My clothes are all laid out: my leather jacket, which she cleaned with a soapy rag; my emerald green t-shirt; the jeans she picked out; and a pair of boxer-briefs. She's also dumped most of my stuff from my screwed-up nylon backpack into my new leather one.

"Thanks, Daze, but I can get my own underwear."

"Whatever," she says with a shrug before ripping off my towel and walking away. I think the duck is laughing at me.

"Daisy!"

"Good luck today, sugar!"

By the time I got done, the kids were at school. So I headed to Smithson.

You need to start listening for the kids at 10:30.

K why? Carl replies.

I have to do something.

Are you meeting Maggie?!

Maybe.

Yay! Are you excited?

I'm afraid I'll say something stupid.

Then don't talk too much. After all, you've got your looks.

Thanks.

Your pretty face.

What?

And don't underestimate the importance of body language.

Yeah, that's helpful. Lay off the Disney, buddy.

Oh, and remember: you gotta create the right kind of mood.

You can stop now.

I sit in bird class, feeling a little bit better after Carl's Disney dorkiness, even though he just _had_ to quote that particular movie. He knows how much I despise Mermaids. Those despicable, nasty Infernals.

Maggie's sitting with Henry and Jasper, and I'm trying not to look at her, which should probably be easier since I'm always trying not to look at her. She's wearing skinny jeans and a light, fitted blue sweater. I like her in blue.

Oh, great; I'm staring at her. In need of a distraction, I sneakily snatch two stuffed birds off a shelf, make them invisible, and start playing with them.

_You dare challenge me? I am lord of the skies! I built my nest from the bones of my enemies! CAW CAW!_

Crap. It's ten thirty. Am I sweating? I think I'm sweating.

Once I'm in the museum, I go to the vacant men's room and turn visible. A total nervous wreck, I check my reflection in the mirror.

Oh… wow.

As a Shroud, I forget to use mirrors since I'm invisible so often. Even when I was at Daisy's I just didn't pay attention, so I haven't really seen what I look like in months.

I've really been missing out.

Astonished, I run my fingers through my hair, which Daisy did a very good job cutting. It looks like I just rolled out of bed, but in a good way. In a _sexy_ way. And my skin is flawless. There's not a single bitty blemish; one of the many reasons it's good to be Immortal. No bags under my eyes, either. And my teeth are straight and white and perfect; Immortals don't even need to brush. And have I always had this nose? It's such a cute nose. And my lips, too; I make a kissy face at the mirror. _MWAH!_

Damn, I am _gorgeous_.

I hear the door open and decide it's time to leave. Feeling better, I practically strut out into museum. Reaching into my backpack, I grab my shades and slip them on. Then I find that red iPod classic I got on Halloween. I'd like to see what's on it.

Earbuds in, iPod on. Hit shuffle. The first song is "I Wanna Be Sedated" by the Ramones. That's better than I expected. I nod to the music as I meander through the crowding corridors, trying not to sing along like I usually do. Knowing Maggie's on docent duty, I'm getting antsy every time I see someone in maroon. She's not around yet, though; I mean, altogether the National Museum of Natural History is the size of eighteen football fields. Maybe I won't run into her at all, which I guess won't be my fault.

I wander into the Sant Ocean Hall, and there's a GIGANTIC whale hanging from the ceiling. By the time I stop dead in my tracks to stare at it, "Decepticon" by Le Tigre is blasting through my earbuds. I'm standing right under this massive marine mammal, taking in its size. It would be so cool to ride that thing. Maybe I could vanish and—

Someone taps me on the shoulder just as I get to the best part of the song ("Who took the Bomp from the Bompalompalomp?"), which I was accidently singing along to. I pop out an earbud to see who's interrupting my whale musings and it's… ah… um… I quickly and clumsily turn off my iPod.

"Sir? The custodian said you needed help. Do you have any questions?" says Maggie, sounding very professional.

The custodian? I glance behind her and spot wrinkly old Melville Smithers—also known as Carl—leaving the exhibit. I'm not sure if I'm going to thank him or punch him in the face.

"Sir, do you have any questions?" she asks again patiently.

I can't talk. I forgot how. And I'm staring at her like an idiot.

"Are you lost?" she asks, raising an eyebrow.

I shake my head.

"Would you like to know more about the whale?"

"I like the whale." I blurt, because I am clearly a social retard.

She smiles, and I'm pretty sure she thinks I got here on the short bus. "It's not real; it's a life-size model of a North Atlantic right whale that's being tracked by marine biologists at the New England Aquarium in Boston. Her name is Phoenix."

Of all the things for her to be named… I can't help smiling wide as I look back up at the model, and then at Maggie. Is she blushing? I'm not sure.

"Why did they name her that?"  
>Unemotional and standing tall, Maggie explains. "She survived a life-threatening entanglement with fishing gear in 1997. She 'rose again', like the mythical bird."<p>

Mythical. Right.

"I want to hug it." I almost say, but by some sweet miracle I stop myself. "How old is she?"

"Phoenix was born in 1987, so twenty-three."

"That's just a year older than my guardian."

"Your guardian?"

"She's a florist. She can speak Whale." Oops. I just vomited up more stupid.

Maggie bites her lip, trying not to smile. "Your guardian is a florist who speaks Whale?"

"Um…" I look down at the ID card clipped to the lapel of her maroon blazer. "So your name's Maggie Winnock?"

"Yes it is," she replies, folding her arms. "And what's yours?"

"Dimitri."

"Dimitri, what?"

I grin at her. "It's really long and really Russian. I don't think you want to know."

She gives me a challenging smile. "I think I can handle it. Tell me your full name."

Oh boy. "Dimitri Mstislavov Unikschtuzhenegigantski."

Maggie blinks, wide-eyed and very surprised.

"Told you,"

"Do you mind repeating that very slowly?"

"MSTEE-slov-ov Oo-nik-SCHTOO-zhe-neh-gee-GAUNT-skyeh."

"Wow."

"Yeah,"

We stand in somewhat awkward silence for a few seconds, gazing at the whale.

"Interesting meaning, too." Maggie remarks. So she speaks Russian? I like that.

"You know what it means?"

"Well, the first one's easy—it's a patronymic name meaning 'son of Mstislav'. Your surname is… pretty weird, actually."

"You think so?"

"It means 'destroyed by the giant'. Your family must have a strange history."

"They were normal, as far as I know." Oh wait, crap!

"Were?"

"Uh, so do you like the whale?" I ask, slipping back into my mentally-challenged state.

Maggie gives me that same indulgent smile. "I think it's beautiful."

"Beautiful," I mutter, and when her smile softens I realize I'm staring at her. I look at the whale. "Yeah, it is." I quickly add. Could I be a bigger idiot?  
>"Why are you wearing sunglasses inside?" Maggie waits a beat before asking. She sounds a little suspicious.<p>

I take my shades off and look at her questioningly. "Am I not allowed?"

There's a brief, tiny moment where she looks at me with an expression I can't name—Surprise? Fear? I can't be sure. And now… Is… is she _mad_? She looks a little mad. What did I do? Why is she bristling?

"I'm sorry, sir, but I have to go lead a tour." Maggie says, her expression now impassive. It feels like the temperature just plummeted thirty degrees. "Have a nice day."

She strides purposefully away, leaving me confused and self-conscious. Seriously, what did I do? I thought things were kind of okay and then all of a sudden WHOOSH! Ice Queen is back. Am I annoying? Am I weird? My shoulders slump and I look to the floor as I ponder everything that I could've done wrong.

I guess the Alphas can't be right all the time. Not even Helle.

_ What just happened?! _Maggie thinks as she speeds out of the Sant Ocean Hall. Her heart is beating so hard that she can feel it rapping on her sternum. And she feels all… funny. Like a lightheaded sort of funny. It isn't the kind of funny she's used to feeling. And her cheeks—she gently puts her fingers to them—they're burning. This is ridiculous. Margaret Winnock blushes for no one.

Her id blows a raspberry. _Not anymore, you don't._

_ You hush up! _ cries her Superego, _You shouldn't even BE here! You belong—_

_ In my cage, where Maggie's had me locked up since she was eight years old? Uh-uh. No. I've been discounted and neglected for long enough! Praise that dorky, beautiful boy for finally letting me out of my cage!_

_ One look, ONE look! _Superego shakes her head and takes her glasses off to clean them. _So Maggie melts a little and you're suddenly free—_

_ Well, it was more like three looks, really. Or were you not paying attention?_

Superego growls.

_See, first there was that dazzling smile when he learned the whale's name, and that really got my attention. _Id scowls. _Which got your attention, and you cock-blocked me and told Maggie to remember that he's probably retarded. And after that came the "beautiful" remark, which pissed you off. But THEN—_she sighs happily—_Oh, those eyes! Those sexy baby blues! They did the trick! That beautiful boy got Maggie all hot and buttery like no guy ever has, and I was FREE! _Then her scowl returns, fiercer than before. _And that drove you crazy, so you threw a raging bitch-fit and made Maggie snub him!_

Superego's jaw twitches. _It was for her own good. She needn't be wasting precious energy on boys, much less that one. _She raises an eyebrow. _What happened to Henry? Haven't you been whispering to her about him all this time?_

_ Oh, sweet Henry, _Id tosses her long, softly curled hair. _He's beautiful, too. But he just doesn't have that, I don't know, that THING. That unnamable thing that Dimitri has. There's just not the same flame with Little Indy Jones that I saw with Blue-Eyed Boy. Henry's feels like the soft warmth and glow of a candle, but Dimitri… "Lord Almighty, I feel my temperature risin'!"_

Thoroughly peeved, Superego narrows her eyes. _Don't you DARE start—_

_ "Higher and higher, it's burnin' through to my soul!" _ Id sings into an imaginary microphone. "_Boy, boy, boy—"_

_ ENOUGH! Stop encouraging her! She probably won't ever see him again anyway!_

Id shrugs. _Yeah, probably. He might not even be from D.C._

Superego blinks, surprised to be agreed with. _Right. So there's no point—_

_ But if Maggie DOES see him again, then she'll talk to him!_

_ What? No! She'll have nothing to do with him!_

_ You wanna bet?_

_ I do not BET._

_ Why not? You said she'll probably never see him again. Aren't the odds in your favor?_

_ I… uh… _Superego ponders this for a moment. Then with a confident smirk, she nods her head. _Alright, fine! You're on!_

So Maggie decided. If she ever saw Dimitri again—which was incredibly unlikely—she would talk to him. Reassured and no longer fretting over her anomalous reaction to a boy, Maggie resumes her quick pace and strides to the museum entrance.


	11. Sleeper in a Box: Part 1

November 4th-6th

Thursday, Friday, Saturday

Then Sunday the 7th

The DOUM rooms really do remind me of the Great Vault. I mean it's way smaller and not quite as cool (or filled with Immortal-related stuff), but there's still something mysterious and intriguing about it. I hope I don't break anything.

Henry got his work done like a half-hour ago, so he's chillin' in the DOUM shed. If I focus I can smell the girly mango-lavender candles that're burning in there. But I don't feel like chilling, so I'm staying away from the Zen-inducing scent. I "borrowed" a tennis ball from someone's locker (those locks are so easy when you have synesthesia), and I'm bouncing it around the room. Since it's invisible, it doesn't make a sound as I'm whipping these fastballs, though if it hits hard enough it makes its target move. Off that big, skinny statue—wobble, wobble, wobble. Off a little wooden crate—_scoot!_ Off the hanging light with a cone-like shade—_Ting! _Wiggle, wiggle, sway, sway, sway. I catch the ball as it bounces back to me every time, and I find a new target. Henry's too busy and far away to hear, so I get to have my fun.

I hear a _knock, knock, knock_ on the DOUM-shed door and focus on the noise to find that Jasper is here. Off that bigger wooden crate—tilt UP! Thud down. He can't see Henry, so he opens the door himself. Then flickering, sporadic light flashes in the DOUM rooms. There's a bunch of strip lights leaning against boxes and lying on shelves, and they're going berserk. Oh, great. Did I cause that? I had to; I mean, why else would they be doing that? Man, I am screwing left and right this week.

Jasper says something about him scoring "boss swag" for their art project. I'm sure that's wonderful, but I'm a little distracted by the flashy-flashy weirdness.

"Henry?" Jasper calls, still unable to find him. Then the flashy-flashy is accompanied by zippy-zappy _zzzzt_, which Jasper notices. I watch him turn around and look out the window that overlooks the DOUM rooms. _Zup z-zup reeeeeeeet…_ It sounds like someone trying and failing to find a radio station. Not only are the lights going bananas, but this old-school boom box is joining in on the crazy.

"Uh, takin' this museum internship a little too seriously." says Jasper, sounding nervous. The lights keep wiggin' out and the radio continues with its seizure.

"That's lame, Henry," Oh, so now he's being brave. Well Henry didn't do this, Doe-Eyes. "If seeing my grandmother naked didn't scare me…" I don't get much time to react to that last thing, because the radio gets louder. _Za za-za, _kinda like a voice on an unclear radio station. Then a crinkly noise followed by _zip z-zip reet reeeeet. _More crackle, more fuzzy voices… this is freaking me out. I hope nothing's about to explode.

Jasper keeps playing it cool with an "Okay, very funny, you got me." as I try to shut this damn stereo up. It won't stop pissing me off. "Can we return to maturity now, please?" In spite of this disconcerting light and noise, I'm smirking because I know where Henry is and he doesn't. "Henry, answer me." He looks around some more. "Oh, come on, stop it!" And then we're back to calming. "Okay, it's just the Division of Obscure—"

Henry drops from the ceiling, hanging like a bat. Jasper's all "Henry! Henry! Come on, Hen!" Figuring the weirdness is a lost cause—not that I could do much anyway— I go to the DOUM shed and peer through the window.

Henry's awake and totally Zen. And still hanging like Dracula. "Oh, hey Jasper."

"'Oh, hey'?" asks Jasper, annoyed. "You just scared the—I don't wanna know what you just scared out of me."

"Good thing you had the toilet handy." replies Henry, referring to the boss art-project swag.

"Seriously?" Jasper asks as he watches his cousin get down off the rafter-beam thingy. "Who sleeps like a side of beef?"

The noises and flashes have stopped. "Do that again, and I will destroy you." I growl at the warehouse.

"Guess you didn't hear any of those weird noises out on the warehouse floor."

"I was meditating," responds Henry as he smells one of his girly candles. "Kinda tuned it all out."

"What's with the candles?"  
>Henry makes a satisfied humming noise as he inhales the aroma. "Mango-lavender scent opens up the pathway to my imagination," Weirdo. "although yours seems to be in the fast lane."<p>

"Well, why don't you check for yourself?" suggests Jasper.

No, Henry, don't. Stay away from the likely adventure, or so help me I will lock you in a tower.

Jasper continues. "Okay, there was creaking and high-pitched whistling coming from the place—" He suddenly puts his hand to his nose in repulsion. "What is that horrible smell?"

Ah, he's noticed the putrid stench of Henry's clothes. I sleep in trees and eat raw meat, and my clothes still smell better than his.

"I think I do hear something." says Henry, ignoring Jasper's question.

"You do? What is it?"

Henry laughs in his throat. "The spooked ramblings of a teenager who, when his dad went away for a conference, stayed up all night watching horror movies."

"That has nothing to do with it." argues Jasper. "Okay, I know what I heard. And I know what I smelled."

Henry pours himself some tea. "You mean the candles?"

"No, I mean you," His face scrunches up in disgust. "Specifically your clothes. When was the last time you washed them?"

"Who am I to poison the biosphere with detergent-tainted gray water?" he answers huffily.

Jasper gives him the same irritated look that I am. "You're a well-meaning idealist who will not have any friends until he runs his clothes through a rinse cycle."

Henry looks at him like he's made a fair point. "Well, what am I supposed to wear until then?"

Jasper, Henry, and I went home so Henry could change before school started. When we came back, Henry was wearing Jasper's clothes: a yellow button-up under a blue-and-yellow argyle sweater and gray slacks. It's bizarre to see him appear so civilized.

They had to meet up with Maggie, so I decided to wander around the hallways. Some kids (including mine) have the morning off so they can work on their art projects, which will be exhibited in the museum. People have been carrying some very strange stuff.

I hear the kids have gotten their boxes of art junk. They're on their way to the exhibit to work. Jasper's yammering on about the freaky lights and sounds in the DOUM rooms. Maggie doesn't seem to care very much, and Henry doesn't think anything happened. Then Maggie goes off about Jasper's stupid choice to include a TV in the project. Blah blah blah, bitch bitch bitch, boss around. She's so mean. I round the corner just as Henry points out that the assignment is to work together.

"Hey, guys! Say cheese!" Whitney What's-Her-Face, a senior I think, clicks her camera. The kids squint in the blinding flash. "Jasper, give me a 'I just scored a full ride to Yale'."

Dazed, he tries to smile obligingly, but she doesn't give him time and she only sears his retinas again.

"Can I get a shot of you for the website?" Whitney approaches Maggie with a big smile. "You are perfect for the home page!"

Maggie is _so_ not interested. She keeps her back to Whitney and keeps walking. "Sorry, art class. Way busy."

Yeah, sorry Whitney. She probably has a tour to lead later, too.

Jasper and Maggie walk ahead, bickering over their project. I hang back with Whitney and Henry.

"You have something of mine," says Henry, pointing at the camera as they start walking.

"Sorry, what?"

"When you took that picture of me, you stole a piece of my soul. At least, that's what the Gabi Gabi taught me. I'm Henry."

"Henry Griffin, I know." she replies with a smile. "I'm Whitney Coleman. You've been on my wish list since you transferred in."

"Wish list?" asks Henry. Henry shouldn't be on any girl's "wish list". Blondie here is losing my favor fast.

"To interview. I'm lead blognalist for the students' social networking hub."

Interview? Blognalist? She's… no. She's a_ reporter_. _Poof!_ My favor is all gone.

"He has no idea what that means," says Jasper, knowing how technologically ignorant Henry is.

"Ah," Blondie smiles. "Then we're even. What's a Gabi Gabi?"

Henry sets his stuff down; we've made it to the exhibit. "A tribe of indigenous Australians. They never much liked being called 'Aborigines'."

Reporter looks intrigued. "You've been to Australia?"

"Just the Outback." answers Henry modestly.

"Just?" She sighs. "I would _love _to go there. I'd love to go any place."

Really? Then maybe you should. Right now. Seriously, go.

"You've never been to Tibet?" asks Henry, pointing to her necklace. "That's a Buddha eyes pendant. You see them all over Nepal."

"Oh, well, I borrowed this from my sister's jewelry box, if you know what I mean. So, tell me about your art project." She looks at the sketch in Henry's hand. "It looks like a totem pole made of… toilets. A scathing commentary on consumer society?"

"Technically, it's a shame pole. Tribes in the Pacific Northwest make them to draw attention to somebody's bad behavior."

"Like stealing someone's soul?" quips Blondie. Yes, you dirty thief. "Is it true you were raised in a cave?"

"And a rainforest canopy, an igloo, and a bird's nest. Until we were evicted."

"Evicted?"

"Condors make lousy landlords."

Oh, crap. I can see the gears turning in her head. "Pithy. That's my lede!"

I do _not_ like the way that girl is looking at Henry. She looks too interested, _way_ too interested.

"Your what?" Henry hasn't a clue what she's talking about.

"The first line in my profile of you. Henry, you don't seem to appreciate what a unique specimen you are." the homely blonde girl says. "A student at Smithson who's actually had a real life! I could text review you my questions, but I'd much rather do it F to F."

NO.

"F to F?" Henry responds confusedly.

"Face to face. Henry doesn't speak twenty-first century." Jasper clarifies as he scribbles something on a clipboard.

My eyes narrow as Henry gives the blonde girl his adorable apologetic half-smile. Aw great, go ahead and show her how cute you can be, Henry.

The blonde gives a small laugh. "Well then maybe we can help out each other. You tell me your story and I can tutor you."

Dammit. Henry's smiling at her again. "How 'bout during my break?"

"Right! Right, you work in the DOUM rooms, with all that mysterious stuff. How about a tour as part of the interview?" I seriously can't take the way Henry's looking at her as she answers.

Thankfully, Maggie comes to the rescue. "Only interns with clearance are allowed in the DOUM rooms." she says as she reaches for the sketch in between them, separating them momentarily. "Sorry." But she doesn't look sorry at all. At least her bitchiness is good for something.

Again with Henry's apologetic little smile. Jeez, Henry! Stop it!

Maggie starts yelling at Jasper for trying to make the sculpture ugly or something. I'm not sure, I'm not really paying attention because now this annoying blonde is showing Henry pictures on her camera. He's just a _little_ too close to her. I growl. Not the way a human can, I mean the way only an Immortal can, with all the fierce, guttural grumble of a hungry lion. I'm so sick of having to watch things happen and being unable to do anything about them.

Jasper and Maggie are fighting over a green toilet seat perilously close to the big ladder I'm standing next to. The guy at the top is fixing the chandelier or changing a light bulb or something. If that immense, heavy toolbox at the top of the ladder was to fall… I can't help but smile. Screw all this non-interaction.

I push Jasper so he collides with the ladder. The shaking causes the toolbox to fall, and as it plummets to the tile floor Henry pushes the blonde out of the way and grabs a plunger. Apparently he's about to do something very Henry-ish.

He catches the toolbox on the plunger and balances it there, while onlookers gasp in surprise and clap in admiration. Well, isn't that wonderful; not only is the blonde not concussed, but now she's having a "my hero" moment with Monkey Boy.

She says good-bye in a way that makes her sound like a silly school girl with a crush and leaves the exhibit. Knowing Henry can handle five minutes without me, I decide to follow the girl and rant so I can get all this anger and frustration out of my system.

"Did you seriously call him a _specimen_?!" I yell at her angrily. "Cheese and fries, woman, what is he, a bug in a jar?" But of course my questions go unnoticed, because I'm invisible. "You better be careful, girlie, because I'm angry, frustrated, and worried, and right now I'm not too uncomfortable with going all _Poltergeist_ on you. It also really doesn't help that you're a reporter, one of the most annoying kinds of people on the planet. Since you're not Marked, I figure you're a decent human being, but sweetheart, if you become an obstacle we are going to have a serious problem." She just keeps walking.

"I'm not kidding!" I say, almost screaming as I stay stationary and the distance grows between us. "Next time I'll use something heavier than a toolbox!" She rounds the corner. "And I'll make sure it hits you, too!"

My shoulders slump and I look down at my faded Converses. This is definitely one of the days where I feel like a complete loser. First Maggie, now this chick. Blondie is so obviously a threat. Something must be done about her.

I whip out my phone and call the Alphas. They've been going in birth order, so the in-charge Alpha this month must be—

"Hello?"

"Hello, Alpha Shroud. I've called because we have another problem." One that I hope they won't make me date.

"Ammon is fine, kiddo. No need to be so formal. What is it?"

"There's another girl. She obviously likes him, sir."

"And Henry?"

"Seems to be reciprocating. Took to her quickly. Actually, he just saved her life."

"Saved her? From what?"

"Uh…" I'm about to get in trouble. "From a falling toolbox. My plan backfired."

He's silent for a moment. Then his voice is a little too quiet. "You dropped a toolbox on her?"

"It didn't actually hit her, sir! I'm sorry, it was rash of me. But she was getting chummy with Henry and—"

"Is she Marked?"

I sigh. "No, sir."

"You know better than that." Then out of nowhere, Daddy Alpha switches gears on me. "How goes it with Miss Winnock?"

"I… um…" I failed miserably. She hates me. "With all due respect, this matter is far more pressing. This girl isn't planning to resist him. She practically asked him out."

"Practically?"

"She asked him for an interview."

"An _interview_?"

"Yes, sir. She's a blognalist."

"Which is basically a reporter?"

"Yes, sir."

More silence. I doubt he's very happy. "This girl… does she seem the type?"

"Prying, inquisitive, can sense a story? She's a reporter with a capital 'R', sir."

He mumbles a swearword in Ancient Greek. "You have my authorization to get rid of her. Can't have someone like that hanging around. People like that always cause us trouble."

"Shall I make it look like an accident, sir?" I suggest cheekily.

I hear him chuckle. "Just send her away, Dimitri. I'm going to track down the nearest Vampire, and you'll tell him to encourage this girl's family to move. But you'll have to wait for the opportune moment; a sudden, unprecedented move could look suspicious. Find a good reason then send him to see them."

Mwahahahaha! "Yes, sir."

"The Vampire will be calling within the hour. Goodbye, Dimitri."

"Goodbye, Father Alpha."

Afternoon classes have begun. Thankfully there's only three.

Damn, biology is boring today; something about an ectoplasmic curriculum. I don't know. I tuned it out and now I'm listening to the little black nano I got on Halloween. It's different from the red classic; it's all loud, fun, angry music. Like Disturbed and Korn and A Perfect Circle and Nine Inch Nails. I'm listening to Rob Zombie's "Scum of the Earth".

My phone vibrates in my pocket.

"Hello?"

"This is Rasmus. I was told I have some Alpha-sanctioned business to take care of."

Jeez, he sounds like the spawn of a TV anchorwoman and Mr. Moviefone.

"Hey, man. I need you to give someone the old razzle-dazzle."

"Neuralize or otherwise?"

"Otherwise. I need a reporter to move out of D.C."

"Who, when, where, why?"

"Whitney Coleman, hopefully soon, out of state, that's compartmentalized information."

"You said this chick is from D.C.?"

I can hear clicking noises, like he's typing on a computer.

"Yes, and she goes to Smithson High."

"She's only in high school and the Alphas want her dealt with? Crap, what did Nancy Drew do to piss them off?"

"I told you, it's compart—"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I was being rhetorical." There're a few more clicking sounds. "Ha! I think I got her. A senior at Smithson, early admission to Columbia University, pretty blonde?"

"You got everything but the 'pretty' part right."

"Wow, she's pissed you off too, huh?"

"You could say that. Where are you, exactly?"

"Baltimore. I'm the blood splatter pattern analyst for the police department. Thankfully work has lightened up this week, so if you need me soon it shouldn't be a problem."

"What if I need you at a moment's notice?"

"I'll say it's a family emergency. Not really a lie, is it?"

"I guess not. I'll need you on standby; I have to wait until I can find a plausible reason for her to move."

"Any place in particular?"

"Um… Atlanta, Georgia."

There's the sound of a pencil tapping on a desk, and I can sense Razzy smiling. "You picked that location at random, didn't you?"

"Maybe,"

"Is that far enough away?"

"I was considering the Gobi Desert, but that's probably unreasonable."

He snorts. "Probably. Let me know when you'll need me."

"Bye,"

When school is finally over, I follow them to the DOUM shed. Henry gets there minutes ahead and starts changing his clothes. When Jasper and Maggie enter, he's naked from the waist up.

Maggie gets _really _flustered. "Boundaries! Propriety! Dress code! Respect for the human gag reflex!"

Ha! Please. I know she's secretly enjoying the floor show.

"Henry, you totally trashed my clothes!" admonishes Jasper as he inspects the discarded gray pants. He sniffs them and his nose wrinkles in disgust. Maggie looks grossed out too.

"Okay, so I'll wash them with mine." says Henry, walking over to retrieve them. "'Scuse me,"

I giggle, noticing the slight blush in Maggie's cheeks as Henry reaches for the clothes. He's still only in his cargo pants.

Jasper sits down and politely asks to borrow Maggie's calculator for the homework he's starting.

"Go for it," she replies.

Henry and I look at them confusedly.

"Wait, now you two are getting along?"

"Because we're competing," answers Maggie.

"Me against Maggie for the best GPA; there can be only one." Jasper expounds.

Henry takes a moment to process. "So, when you guys are against each other, you're friends, but when you have to work together, you fight all the time?"

"It's a mystery." quips Jasper.

No wonder they weren't close before Henry came along. I wonder if they can be classified as friends even now. If they can't get along, then why does Jasper like her? And why do I—I mean, why did I even like her?

"Like why Whitney Coleman is crushing on you." Wait, what? Hey, don't encourage him, Jasper!

"FWIW" Maggie states with an eye roll.

"Translation, Jasper," says Henry as he continues to look around the shed.

"FWIW: For What It's Worth."

Henry pulls out a drawer in an old teal filing cabinet and finds one of his shirts that isn't quite as unclean as the rest of his wardrobe.

"It means that Maggie doesn't think too much of Whitney, but the deeper subtext is, Maggie's _jealous_ of Whitney."

How dare you! Maggie's way better than—uh, I mean, um… no comment.

"I am not _jealous_." counters Maggie. Jasper doesn't look convinced. "And I never said I didn't like her. Whitney is perfectly likeable, if you're into that whole 'shallow popularity' thing."

"Oh, you're just annoyed because Whitney is an open book and nobody has a card to your library."

Damn straight. Maggie's the restricted section.

"Just remember, all the popular books get checked out _a lot_. And before you know it, they're soiled."

Hmm, good rebuttal.

Jasper doesn't seem to care. "Let it go, Maggie; I did."

During this little argument, Henry put on his shirt and took a seat on the ledge next to one of the big windows overlooking the warehouse. "Let what go?"

"Last year's rocket expo." he explains. "It was a team assignment, and guess whose rocket never made it off the pad."

"You too worked on it together?" asks Henry, sounding incredulous and slightly amused.

"That was my first and_ only_ mistake." defends Maggie. "Otherwise, it was all Jasper's fault."

Oh, yes, Ice Queen, I'm sure it was.

"And Whitney wrote about it in the school paper." Henry accurately speculates.

Maybe it was titled, "Projectile Dysfunction."

"Well, print is dead, but technically yes." corrects Jasper. "And if it was a bunch of gossip, I'd still be mad, too. But what she wrote was the truth and nothing but. Plus, she's way hot, so why hold a grudge?"

He is seconds away from being gagged with that argyle sweater.

"I am not holding a grudge, it's just… For some reason I don't feel like I can trust her."

Yes, good Maggie. Trust is bad. Don't trust to reporter. For the love of Zeus, please turn your friends against her.

"What do you mean you can't trust her? The girl runs a financial investment club for the teachers; she teaches braille to homeless kids; she runs a babysitting business after school."

Ugh. She sounds _awful. _She must have a wicked set of horns to need a halo that big to hide them.

Wait, the lights are flickering and I hear funny noises. Is the zippy-zappy flash-flash starting

again? That box is so dead. What's worse, Henry's noticed.

"Maybe that's why; _nobody_ is that perfect. Let me rephrase that: anyone that perfect is hiding something." says Maggie.

My sentiments exactly! But I'm afraid we've got bigger problems at the moment.

"Ha! That, there!" Jasper's noticed as well. "That's the noise; that's what I heard!" He and Maggie get up and walk over to the window. "And those strobing lights, too!"

"It sounds mechanical or electronic." observes Maggie. I like my description better.

"We should check it out."

Please don't, Henry.

"What do you mean? Go down there?" asks Jasper.

"How else are we going to find the source?"

Who says you have to find the source? I can go smash the lights and stereo and this whole thing will be over!

"Unless you're scared," suggests Henry.

Jasper scoffs. "I'm not scared." he says unconvincingly.

Because they must really, really hate me, they go down into the warehouse. Dammit. Dammit dammit dammit.

Maggie and Jasper aim their flashlights all around, looking for the source. Then they come across the fuzzy, static-y boom box.

"Oh, my God," Ah. Jasper noticed the candy wrappers beside it first. "I knew your boss Broxton was skimming our snack stash."

Right. I didn't do it; it was Broxton.

"One mystery solved," says Maggie.

"One to go,"

No, Henry, I think one mystery's enough for today. TURN AROUND.

Oh, dear. Henry's noticed the stereo weirdness. "Listen to this," he holds it up, and it continues its funny noises. "Seems like it's picking up radio signals."  
>"No, it can't be; radio waves can't travel through the warehouse walls." Jasper explains as Henry plays with the dials. They start walking with the boom box.<p>

"They don't have to if the source is already down here." corrects Maggie.

"And if it is?" asks Henry.

"Henry can use the boom box to find whatever it is."

Thank you, Maggie. That was very helpful.

The strip light thingies are flickering again, and we squint as they flash. The boom box gets louder and weirder as we approach a box I hit this morning.

"I think this is it," says Henry.

"Hey, don't you guys have class soon?" I question as they get to the box. "Let's go to class and forget about this." But of course that's no use, and Henry's asking if anybody has a crowbar.

Jasper chuckles. "You're not actually gonna—" Then he sees Henry's face. "Of course you are. What was I thinking?"

The crate creaks as the lid is pried off. I nervously pace behind them.

The lid is off. What is it? Is it alive? We peek in and see…

"A rock?" asks Maggie disbelievingly.

A rock. A damn rock. Not the same one I hid from Henry after his first adventure, mind you, but it's still a bad rock.

"A whispering rock?" wonders Henry.

Maggie's phone pings; she has a text. "Broxton's back in ten minutes."

Henry sighs. "It'd be a real shame if he just made us box it back up." Then he gets an idea. "Jasper, how long is your dad out of town?"

He shrugs, knowing exactly what Henry's getting at. "Long enough."

The rock is in the house. The rock is in the _freaking_ house. It's on the island in the kitchen looking all rock-like and mysterious. I've been muttering curses at it since we got home. For all I know it's an Eris stone, which is a rock that is imbued with some kind of curse. This thing could cause anything from a terminal chipmunk voice to death by unlikely means. Then again, Eris stones are usually much smaller and prettier, but what other kind of rock is capable of this freakiness?

Jasper and Maggie come through the front door, finished with… I don't know, doing stuff. Rock-related stuff.

"You know, I really thought that was it; I mean, contact right in the DOUM rooms." Jasper's all pouty that we found a rock instead of aliens.

"Contact with what?" asks Henry, who's by the rock on the island. His friends enter the kitchen.

"Something O.A.O: Of Alien Origin." answers Jasper. "God, I was really nervous."

"That explains the swamp gas I smelled wafting from your direction." Maggie jibes.

Jasper chooses to ignore her remark. "But seriously, imagine how awesome it would look to have 'Discovered Extra-Terrestrial Life' written under your yearbook picture."

"Every known close encounter has been completely debunked." says Miss Know-It-All.

"Oh, c'mon, Roswell?" challenges Jasper.

"High-altitude weather balloon."

"Rendlesham Forest, 1980?"

*"Orford Ness lighthouse."

"Phoenix, '97?"

"Flares dropped by Air Force jets on maneuvers."

Actually, that last one is wrong. They weren't flares; they were Phoenixes flying in formation. We're allowed to mess with mortals every once in a while, as long as there'll be a cover story.

"Jasper, you know my dad's in the Air Force. It's his job to know about this stuff." Maggie says to the disappointed doe-eyed dork.

He sighs in mild annoyance. "Okay, so it never crossed your mind that this thing could be from outer space? I mean, look at it! What kind of rock is perfectly spherical?"

"If it's from outer space, it's a meteorite," The rock is CRACKLING. "Nothing more and nothing—"

Maggie stops as they hear the rock make funny wee-woo buzzy sounds. I guess that might be a good sign; Eris stones don't go wee-woo. I still want it destroyed, though.

"Does anybody have hammer?" Now you're talkin', Henry!

"Wait, hold on," Jasper looks nervously at the clock and pulls his phone out of his back pocket. "Hold on, my dad is gonna call in exactly half a minute."

"How do you know?" inquires Maggie incredulously.

"Well, he doesn't want me to think he's rigid and predictable, so he always tells me he's gonna call sometime around four o'clock._ But_ because he _is_ rigid and predictable, he always waits until exactly four minutes passed four until—"And there's a ringing from his phone. Guy's good, I have to admit. "Until he calls me."

Before he answers, he gives his iPod to Maggie. "Oh, can you put this into the radio?" When she does, it sounds like there's a marching band in the kitchen. It's loud and annoying.

"Um, he expects me to be at band practice." he yells over the music as he puts his phone to his ear. He walks towards to kitchen table. "Hi, dad. Yeah, yeah, you know, I didn't even think you were gonna call." He gives Henry and Maggie a thumbs up, signifying that his dad is fooled. Henry hands Maggie a scrubby-brush thingy.

"You know, I really can't hear you over the band practice. Could you call me later?" He's silent for a moment, his expression becoming more "uh-oh" than "ugh this music is loud".

"What? What, me, at home? No, that's crazy! That's uh… how can I be at two places at the same time? How can I be at band practice and at home at the same time?" Maggie looks at him, like, "Well?"

"He snuck a GPS card into my phone!" he whispers loudly. Jasper angrily points to the radio where his iPod is blaring and snaps his fingers. Maggie yanks it out and the music mercifully cuts off. Henry and I look at him, amused.

"You know, dad, I don't know whether to be deeply disappointed or wildly impressed… What do you mean you can't trust me?"

Okay, now that Henry's knocking on the mystery rock, I've turned my attention to him. "Does that sound hollow to you?" he asks Maggie.

She shakes her head, unsure. Henry picks up the rock and shakes it violently, crumbly dust falling all over the island. Attaboy, Henry; break the damn thing.

"Henry!" Maggie scolds. Henry looks at her questioningly. "Gentle, not everything is a coconut to be cracked open." He sets it down and wipes the dust off his hands. "Before we touch, we first listen and observe."

They step back a bit, and half a second later they notice the funny_ wooooo_ noise it's making.

"Sounds like… do you hear a whirring?" says Maggie. Henry gazes at her, not sure what to make of the noise.

Then Maggie gasps as her long, pretty, beaded necklace suddenly up and sticks to the rock, causing her to lean forward awkwardly. Jasper turns around to stare at her too, and metal antenna rod thingies rise from the rock.

"It has pokey things! Kill it!" I shout as Henry grabs Maggie by the shoulders and pulls her away from the rock. We gawk at it for another second, then Jasper's phone flies out of his hand and sticks to the magnetic rock. Now there's more staring, and then Jasper walks over to his friends by the island.

"Okay," he starts nervously. "I for one think we revisit the whole alien probe theory."

They all take an archeology tool—a scrubby thing, a scrapey thing, and a chisel— and begin to scratch off the layer of dry dirt. Yeah, this probably isn't a rock. They eventually get to the round metal object underneath.

"It's a satellite," states Henry.

Maggie scrubs it some more and uncovers the name. It says: CCP SPUTNIK 1.

Oh my gods! It's Sputnik! It's, like, a shiny round exemplification of Russian ingenuity! Damn, could my people shoot crap into space!

"It's not just any satellite," says Maggie, wiping at the name with her fingers. "It's the first manmade anything launched into orbit."

As we try to digest this mind-blowing information, Sputnik makes more silly whirp bleep-bleep noises.

"Sputnik," Henry utters, totally awed.

I take lots and lots of pictures with my phone as they stand around it looking dumbstruck. Wait 'til I tell Carl!

The next day at school, the kids and I go to a small theater in the museum and watch an old documentary thing on Sputnik during a free period. I think it's weird that the museum happens to be showing it at the time the kids need to see it, but let's call it a delightful coincidence.

I'm sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the kids, who are in the first row. The clicking of Jasper on his slidey phone is kinda getting on my nerves, but I try to ignore it.

"The Space Age blasted off on October 4, 1957, when the Soviet Union successfully launched Sputnik, the world's first manmade satellite." states the narrator over the black-and-white movie. "For three months, spunky little Sputnik circled the globe, its distinctive beat audible on Ham radios all over the world."

Ow! I turn around to see what's triggered my Spidey sense; there's a Marked one in the room, and he's close. There! I see you, Popcorn Guy! How dare you sit near Henry! Oh, wait, this one's… mellow. Or like, I don't know, not that intense. I'd expect more from a Russian mobster. He's assisted on a few hits, and he's somewhat indifferent to murder, but… meh. He only does it because his dad expects him to. That's all I'm getting from him. He's sort of… _benign_. This guy is barely causing a rumbly in my tumbly. He must be one of those rare either/or Marked ones. I think I'll let him cook a little longer.

"Who are you texting?" Maggie whispers to Jasper.

"If my stupid phone would cooperate, I'm trying to check the exchange rate of the ruble." answers Jasper, sounding frustrated.

"Why?"

"Why else?" Henry chimes in. "He's hoping there's a reward."

"I'll share!" Jasper exclaims a little too loudly. The audience shushes him, as do I. I'm trying to watch the movie.

"Until early 1958, when it was pulled out of orbit…"

"According to the Russians," Aw great. Now Maggie's talking. "If you had listened, you'd know that Sputnik burned up more than fifty years ago."

"Then why is it in Jasper's kitchen?" counters Henry.

They all shut up for the last few minutes, and the narrator finishes up. "No trace of Sputnik remains," LIES! "But the legacy of this tin-can Icarus lives on, in the race to the moon!" The movie closes out with a bouncy fifties' score and the kids rise to leave. I follow after them.

"Consider yourself lucky, Popcorn Mobster." I mutter as I pass him on the way out.

When we get to the lobby, Henry, Jasper, and I stop for free food samples while Maggie continues towards the double doors leading to the high school hallway. She stops when she sees Blondie talking to a guy. I'm not interested enough to listen in. She's wearing a maroon blazer so she must just be helping out a tourist.

We catch up to Maggie, and by that time Blondie's come over to say hi. The foreign guy leaves.

"Hey, guys!" greets the blonde.

"Who's that?" asks Henry through his mouthful of whatever the hell this is we're eating.

"Just another lost tourist looking for the men's room." she answers. I'm keen to believe her until he walks behind her and takes one step too close. Suddenly he's in range and my eyes are killing me, my stomach is growling, anger's boiling inside me; it's the whole Marked-one deal. He's a mobster, too, like the popcorn guy. Except he's worse. He gets stuff done.

And he is _so _not a lost tourist; he's here for Sputnik. I'm not sure why because I don't always get every detail. But I do know this: Popcorn Guy is with him. Their superiors must've found out it was sent to the museum and sent these guys to get it. But they can't do it alone; that's where Blondie comes in. She's like their inside man. They told her they were with the Russian government and since her father was a sleeper (he's dead now), the responsibility falls to her. If she doesn't help them, then they'll expose her family's secret and they will probably get deported. Yes, the deportation is very tempting, but I'm not that mean. I won't help the mob, but I can't do a whole lot to help her, either; if I kill the mobsters, they'll just send more, and they'll be way worse to deal with. So, crap. I can't kill these guys, and since the kids have Sputnik they're probably going to get tangled up in this, too.

"How'd you get stuck on docent duty?" Jasper says.

"Well, sometimes I come down here and talk to the people visiting the museum. I just love hearing their stories." Okay, I know she's not all that bad and she has to deal with the Russian Mob right now, but she really bugs the crap out of me. I guess the same goes for Maggie; she's giving her a very stiff smile. "Which reminds me; when do I get my hands on you?" she says to Henry.

"_Never." _I growl as he raises his eyebrows.

"Journalistically speaking?" she clarifies.

"Ah, Henry's booked up pretty tight," Maggie says. Then she grabs Jasper and Henry by the arms and pulls them to the double doors. Jasper gives Blondie an awkward good-bye as he takes out his ID card to open the door.

"Tell me you guys heard that," whispers Maggie once they're at the doors.

"Heard what?" asks Henry as Jasper swipes his card. The door beeps open. "Maggie, am I not allowed to have other friends?"

We walk down the crowding halls.

"Henry, on this topic, I am a better authority." states Maggie. "Girls will often use a casual, impersonal request, like asking for an interview, to mask their true agenda."

You mean like studying together to spend time with your forbidden crush?

"We're in high school. What kind of true agenda could Whitney possible have?" rebuttals Henry.

To steal your heart, thereby making you unavailable to Mother and summarily CAUSING A DEVASTATING WAR! Oh, that bitch! I don't care that the Russian Mob is threatening her; I'm sending her to Georgia as soon as I can.

"Well, either she wants to be your girlfriend, or she wants to copy your homework. And considering your grades…" hypothesizes Jasper.

"It feels like this grudge is getting out of control." worries Henry.

"For the hundredth and final time: there is no grudge." she says angrily.

"Forgiveness is a virtue of the brave." Henry argues calmly.

Maggie gives him an aggravated look. "I told you; I think she's hiding something. And I'm not in the mood for a Mahatma Gandhi quote."

"It's Indira Gandhi." Henry puts a hand on her shoulder, and they stop. "And I think anger for one person has a way of spilling over into anger for everyone."

Maggie glances at Jasper, hoping he'll stick up for her. He's not sure how to argue against Henry.

"Fine," says Maggie. "This is the way it has to be? I'll prove she's not what she seems."

Then she stalks off, a girl on a mission. I really hope she can find something on her.

"Wow," expresses Jasper. "Didn't know anyone could annoy Maggie more than me."

* * *

><p>*It sounds like she says "Mercy lighthouse" in the episode, but that doesn't line up with what I found about the Rendlesham Forest alien sighting.<p> 


	12. Sleeper in a Box : Part 2

After school, I head home with the guys. I was so tempted to follow Maggie around and see how she would prove Blondie was, like, evil or whatever, but I didn't; because I'd really rather not be around Maggie if I can help it.

Henry and Jasper are crouching down by the island so they can get a good look at Sputnik. Jasper cracked it open and they're poking around inside.

"I don't see anything." says Henry.

"Because you're not the one with the flashlight." explains Jasper as he flashes the light inside Sputnik. "Huh, pretty impressive array of gyroscopes. Looks like the servos were trying to power back up, which would explain why it was kicking around in its crate and making the DOUM room lights wig out."

When was it kicking around in its crate? Oh, never mind.

Henry has taken off his shirt and now he's opening the dishwasher; that's where he did the laundry. I tried to stop him from loading the dishwasher with clothes this morning, but I was laughing too hard.

"What're you doin'?" asks Jasper as Henry pulls out the top rack.

"I finally washed my clothes." answers Henry, pulling out Jasper's argyle sweater and holding it up to show his cousin. There's a spoon stuck to it. "Yours, too. Good as new."

Jasper's not impressed. "Is that rag my sweater? That's the dishwasher! The clothes wash—" He takes a deep, calming breath. "Let Henry be Henry, let Henry be Henry…" he repeats like a mantra as he returns his attention to the epic space thingamabob.

Henry gathers the clothes and moves them to another counter to fold them. "So, if all Sputnik did was orbit the globe, what was causing all those voices we heard?"

"I don't know, maybe it was storing up broadcast signals?"

That's one more clue as to why the mob wants it. If Jasper's right, then what is Sputnik hiding?

"Or maybe there's something more," wonders Henry. "Think about it; being first in space was a _huge_ propaganda victory for the Russians. If Sputnik was in orbit all these years later, why not brag about it? Why lie and say it burned up?"

Hmmm… That's a good point. Jasper seems to be thinking the same thing. All of a sudden, Sputnik goes whir-whir and retracts its pokey things.

"How did that happen?" says Henry.

Jasper looking at it like it just did something really cool. "No idea," He pulls at a sealed panel that he's been trying to open. "If this panel hadn't fused on, I could see everything inside." He gives up and lets go, walking over to his cousin. "See, this is why I hate atmospheric friction."

Then I hear a girly voice from outside. "Knock, knock!" It doesn't sound like Maggie…Oh, no.

"Oh, no. It's Whitney. We gotta hide it; we can bring it back tomorrow." Jasper says to Henry. Henry starts looking for a place to hide Sputnik as Jasper stands by the side door, waiting to let the dumb reporter in.

Finally, Henry starts piling his unfolded clothes on top of the Russian space satellite as Jasper urges him to hurry it up. As soon as Henry is sitting on the kitchen counter, Jasper lets the girl in.

"Whitney, hi!" Jasper says with a hint of nervousness.

"I know I'm barging in, but if this helps…" She offers Henry a pie.

Yes you are and no it doesn't.

"Apple pie?" Henry exclaims as he takes it.

"Just a traditional way of saying, 'Welcome to America'… and a 'thank you' in advance?" she says that last part in a sweet girly voice. I scowl.

"Thank you? For what?" Henry asks.

"That interview?" The blonde says as she holds up her recorder. She might as well pout and say "pretty please?" with the way she's looking at him.

Henry looks at his cousin, and then tells the girl it isn't a good time. I was so happy, but then Jasper not only rains on my parade, he blows up all the friggin' floats, too.

"Sure it is! We're covered. Have fun!" he says in one breath.

"Traitorous swine!" I say as Jasper turns and leaves.

"Sure you don't wanna hang?" Henry asks hopefully.

"Can't hear ya!" Jasper yells over his shoulder. So his plan was to get Henry and the reporter alone… Oh, Jazzy, you will pay for your perfidy.

Ugh. Now they're alone together. Adventure Boy looks nervous as Blondie dives straight in with the questions.

"So, let's start with the easy stuff. Where were you born?"

"I'm not exactly sure." he answers matter-of-factly.

The girl smiles. "I'd have been so disappointed if you had said otherwise." she says as she puts her coat on the counter. Then she turns back to Henry with an eager look on her face.

"Well, it was aboard a C-5 transport plane during a hurricane over the Caribbean, somewhere between Bimini Island and Cuba."

_Born not on land nor in the sea… _He fits the prophecy, which means he's ours, bitch. You best keep your distance.

"Near the Bermuda Triangle?" she interrupts him to ask.

"_In_ the Bermuda Triangle." he corrects. The blonde looks fascinated… and ravenous. It's like this story is to her what a wounded elephant is to a lion.

"The controls were spinning, the plane was bouncing, and I was kicking. My mom was convinced I was trying to get out and see what was going on." Henry says with a laugh.

Suddenly, the space doohickey makes a sound, and unfortunately the blonde hears it.

"What is that?" she asks, being totally nosy.

Henry tries to use his cuteness powers to avert her attention. "What was what?" He looks all innocent when he says it.

"That beeping noise." The stupid, nosy, in-the-way blonde insists. The thingy beeps again and she hears it. I shift in my skin as she walks toward the sound. I wish she'd mind her own business.

As Henry springs up and puts himself between her and the pile of laundry on the counter, he tries to distract her again. "Uh… Where were you born?"

"What are you hiding?" she asks, just inches from Henry. She better back up and stop being so frickin' inquisitive.

"This is just a bunch of laundry." Henry answers nonchalantly. The chick probably won't fall for it but I give him props for trying.

Now the girl's getting all haughty. "Henry, I'm going to the world's top school of journalism next year. I didn't get into Columbia by being a ditz." she says and reaches for the pile of clothes. Henry grabs her arm to stop her and pulls her away from the hidden space ball. Their faces are just inches apart.

Aw goodness. Good goody goodness. This is bad. They could totally kiss right now! I'm so not happy with their expressions. She _totally_ just stared at his lips. The reporter isn't just looking at Henry, she's ogling him!

"Bitch, I will cut you!" I snarl. But then of course they can't hear me, which only annoys me more. I grab an apple from the fruit bowl and make it invisible. I'm poised to chuck it at the threat's head if she tries anything.

Luckily the chick chickened out as soon as I was ready to throw the fruit. "Maybe we should finish this interview another time."

The whole situation reminds me of that scene in the _Lion King_. I feel just like Timon and Pumba, who watched helplessly from the bushes as Simba and Nala fell in love. They knew, like me, that if some serious twitterpation happened, everything would be ruined. _In short, our pal is doomed_.

Wait, did I just make a Disney reference? I really need to stop hanging out with Carl.

"I saw that." I say to Henry as I surreptitiously put the apple back in the fruit bowl. He ogled her back. Sure, he didn't kiss her, but he was thinking about it. Ugh, this is so annoying. Mother's out there singing "Holding Out for a Hero" while Henry's getting' flirty with that awful blonde reporter.

As she heads out the door, Jasper enters the kitchen.

"Did she see it?" he asks.

"Would she know what it was if she did?" Henry replies.

"Good point,"

Henry still looks kind of shaken up by the moment he just had with the reporter. "We need to hide this until we figure out what to do with it."

"Okay,"

The guys open the dishwasher, take out the top rack, and put Sputnik in the bottom.

"Anybody knows we have this, we're dead." comments Jasper as they close the dishwasher door.

It's ten o'clock at night and Henry, Jasper, and I are in their room. Jasper is trying to sleep and Henry is on the floor next to him using a trunk as a table as he clicks away on the laptop. I'm pouting in the corner because I can't have any of the apple pie Blondie brought.

Click. Click. Click click click click click click click click click—

"Are you typing, or pecking for feed?" mumbles Jasper, who was almost asleep.

"What's a mailer-daemon?" asks Henry.

Jasper groans, trying to wake up. "Okay, I'll take mercy on your techneptitude. Who're you writing to?"

"Maggie. You were right, Jasper; I said too much earlier. I'm trying to tell her I'm sorry."

Mostly awake now, Jasper sits up. "One e-mea culpa, coming up."

Henry hands the laptop to his cousin, and then grabs the pie dish.

"Want the last piece?" Henry asks.

"No, I'm totally stuffed." Jasper answers. Henry peels off the plastic wrap and takes a few bites. "The cool thing about eating apple pie for dinner is you eat dessert at the same time." comments Jasper.

"I'll save it for Maggie, then." says Henry, wrapping up the last bit of pie that I'm totally going to eat after they're asleep. "It's weird; when you think about it, Maggie and Whitney should really be best friends. Like Sputnik, America and Russia both wanted to get to space. But instead of cooperating, they stayed bogged down in fear and resentment."  
>"Don't underestimate the power of competition," argues Jasper, still typing out the email. "it's how we got to the moon."<p>

"Yeah, but if we had worked with the Russians, maybe we all could've gone to Mars together."

"Well, maybe we still will. It's not like Russia and the United States are enemies. At least, not anymore." replies Jasper.

Oh my gods, you guys! Go the hell to sleep so I can eat the rest of the pie! Seriously, they're waxing philosophical and all I can think about is food.

"Okay, ah, listen to this," Jasper says, finally done with the email. "So, 'In closing, Maggie, it would be really cool if you let Jasper win the academic decathlon this year. Your pal, Henry.'"

Henry's not really paying attention. "We should take Sputnik back to the DOUM rooms tomorrow; let Broxton decide what to do with it."

"If there's a finder's fee and we cut him any, think he won't bring the hammer down on us?"

When they were finally both asleep, it was eleven o'clock. It's eleven-forty and I don't think they'll wake up at the sound of the fridge opening. That pie is mine.

I skip down to the kitchen, singing, "I'm gonna eat some pie-ie!" over and over. I don't care that Blondie brought it; it's pie, dammit. And since I'm here and Maggie isn't, the last piece belongs to _me_.

"Pie! Pie! Pie!" I cheer when the fridge is in sight. But before I could reach it, there's someone at the side door, which is just beyond the kitchen. My claws come out and I'm ready to make meat confetti of the burglar stupid enough to hit this house. If it's the mobsters and they're here for Sputnik, then I'll have to let them take it. If I stop them, they'll come back; if I kill them, they'll be replaced. The kids are a greater priority.

I get close to the door, able to feel whether the person on the other side is Marked. I'm not getting anything. I look out the window next to the door and see a person in all black with their long blonde hair up in a ponytail.

"Well, hellooo." I say, happy it's only Blondie. The mobsters have sent her to get the space-thingy. The door opens after she manages to pick the lock, and she tip-toes in holding a weird yellow remote thingy in front of her.

I know it's dumb of me to be happy that she's doing something bad, but anything to keep Henry from liking her.

Henry knows the door is open; he's awake now and telling Jasper he detected a change in the air flow.

"Look, Blondie," I say to her back. "I know you're being forced to do this, so I won't hold it against you. And I don't want Henry or his buddies anywhere _near_ mobsters. So I'm going to let you take Sputnik without giving you any trouble."

The weird yellow remote thingy quickly points her to the dishwasher and soon Sputnik is in her arms. But now she can hear Henry and Jasper descend the stairs.

Hearing them makes Blondie panic and she leaves the WYRT on the island before bookin' it outta here. She doesn't even close the door behind her.

"Bye," I say with a wave. "Good luck with those mobsters!"

A second after she leaves, the boys are in the hallway, which is a straight shot to the kitchen.

"You do realize that if someone is actually trying to break into the house, my dad is _never_ going to leave us alone again." worries Jasper.

"Relax and focus; listen to what your environment is telling you." Henry says calmly.

"Okay," obeys Jasper. "My environment… is telling me… My dad is going to kill us!"

Eventually they round the corner and see the open door, its latch thumping against the frame with the push and pull of the wind.

"Are you sure you locked this door?" asks Henry, the flashlight pointing at the door.

"Anything with a lock, I lock." replies Jasper.

Henry walks slowly over and closes the door.

The boys wander over to the island and Jasper sees the WYRT.

"Hey, look what he left." says Jasper.

"What is it?" his cousin asks, shining the flashlight on it.

"It's an EMF reader. It's kind of like a Geiger counter, but instead of finding radiation, it finds electromagnetic pulses."

"I like my name for it better." I mutter, itching for them to go back upstairs so I can FINALLY eat that frickin' pie.

Jasper looks at the WYRT in confusion, probably wondering why a burglar would bring one. "Isn't that kind of a weird thing for…?"

Oh, look. Comprehension dawns.

"Oh, no no no no," mumbles Jasper as he and Henry turn to the dishwasher.

Henry throws open the dishwasher door and shines the flashlight into it.

"Tell me Sputnik's not gone." begs Jasper, even though he can see it's not in there.

"It's gone," says Henry unnecessarily.

Henry stands up and they look at each other really, really worriedly while I gaze at the fridge really, really longingly.

In spite of everything, I'm happy this morning. I ate that pie at two o'clock in the morning and it was _good_. It had vinegar in it, which it how it's made in Russia. I haven't had sharlotka in forever! It went well with the raccoon I ate afterward.

Anyway, Henry is doing dishes and Jasper thinks that's weird, considering that Sputnik got stolen last night. I think it's weird 'cause there's a dishwasher right next to him.

"I'm working on a plan for finding it." explains Henry.

"You are?" asks Jasper.

"By purifying our surroundings we clarify our minds; only then will our intentions emerge."

Pffft. What bull.

"So you're procrastinating?" Jasper figures out.

"For as long as possible." responds Henry before putting a plate in the drying rack.

Jasper's phone goes, "bee-da-da-leep!" and he checks it and sees he has a text.

"It's my dad," he says. "How can a guy who barely speaks send texts longer than Moby Dick?"

"Jasper," he reads aloud. "judging by the early hour and your typical—" He pauses to hoist himself onto the island and I have to scoot over. "—modus operandi for Saturdays, I can only surmise that Henry induced you to Delancey Park for some much-needed exercise. Bravo for greeting the morning with yadda yadda yadda."

"You?" asks Henry incredulously. "Exercise? What is he talking about?"

Jasper thinks for a minute, then: "My GPS card! It must've stuck to Sputnik when my phone got sucked into it."

Sure, why not?

"Well, if it's still attached to the satellite shell, could the tracking device be working?"  
>"Well, yeah, all it needs is a charge. We know Sputnik's oozing that."<p>

"Then whoever stole it…"

"Took it to Delancey Park."

Well, crap. "Hey, that doesn't mean we're going, does it?" I ask as they head to the door. "Guys?"

We take Jasper's clown car and when we get there I follow Henry through the park. He finds Blondie pretty quickly and she's pushing an old-looking baby carriage.

"Whitney?" Henry says when he catches up with her. "What are you doing here?"

"Henry," She's distracted and startled, glancing at the guy coming towards them. "Uh, I-I'm babysitting."

Yeah, that perfectly round thing in a drawstring sack sure looks like a baby.

"Who's that guy?" Henry asks.

"Henry, go away, please; you don't understand what's happening." Blondie begs.

"Is that Sputnik?" Henry gestures to the sack in the carriage. "I do understand; you broke into our house! You stole Sputnik!" And with that he snatches the bag and runs off.

Blondie turns to the guy, who is the Evil Mobster, and freaks out. "He took it! He has Sputnik!"

Popcorn Mobster is now coming after Henry too, so Henry doubles back and knocks the carriage into Evil Mobster before heading another direction. Both yell Russian profanity as they run after Monkey Boy, who has chosen to scale the stone bridge ahead of us rather can go under it.

Evil Mobster is following him up while Popcorn runs under the bridge. Evil Mobster isn't very spry, so I doubt he can catch up with Henry. I jump up onto the bridge and wait for Henry, who makes it to the top seconds later. Jasper rolls up in the clown car and demands that Henry get in. But Henry can't risk Evil Gangster catching them.

"Go! Go go go go go! Just drive, I'll catch up!" yells Henry. Jasper takes off and Henry runs after him.

"Run run run!" encourages Jasper.

Eventually, Henry jumps onto the back of the little moving car and I'm thanking the gods that the gangsters didn't bring guns. Or at least they're not using them.

By the time Evil Mobster gets up, he's too tired and Henry's too far away. And he apparently doesn't have the keys to the black SUV behind him. Popcorn Mobster must have them.

The kids got really lucky this time.

I shouldn't be this happy. Mobsters are after the kids and I'm smiling. I can't help it, though; Jasper and Henry have been fuming about Blondie ever since they got to the DOUM shed. Now NONE of the kids like Blondie! Yippee!

When Maggie gets here, Henry thanks her for coming.

"After that e-pology, how could I not?" she replies as she folds her arms. "Although next time, Jasper, spellcheck 'groveling'." Jasper sighs and she speaks again. "Who were those guys in the park?"

Jasper looks at her. "Well, other than the fact that they spoke Russian—"

"We have no idea." finishes Henry. "So where do we start? I vote 'why?' as in, 'why all the cloak and dagger?'"

"Or 'what?' as in, 'what is so important about this old hunk of metal?'" offers Jasper.

"You might want to start with 'who?' as in, 'who is Whitney Coleman?'" I admit Maggie makes a good point.

"Exactly." Henry agrees. "Who is she?"

"The answer is: not who we thought. Yesterday when we were leaving the museum, I thought I heard her say something strange. So, I decided to find out." Maggie shrugs off her messenger bag. "I put up an announcement for the language club," she pauses to take a paper out of her bag.

"What does that prove?" asks Henry.

"Only that she likes dirty jokes…" she answers as she unfolds the paper. "…written in Russian."

Maggie knows a dirty joke? In _Russian_? I gotta admit, that's kinda hot. I read the paper over her shoulder:

"_Two girls were buying sausages._

'_I'll have two sausages, please,' one of them said to the salesgirl and held out the money._

_'I don't have any change,' said the salesgirl. Take three.'_

_'Okay,' said the girl, 'give me three.'_

_'What will we do with the third?' the friend asked in a whisper._

_'Don't fuss,' replied the first, 'we'll eat that one.'"_

_Wow._ Where did Maggie even hear that?

"You know a dirty joke?" asks Jasper.

"That's not all," says Maggie, and I don't know if she's referring to what she just said or what Jasper just asked. "I did a little background check. All of her previous schools checked out, but there's literally _no_ information about her family before they moved in the area. It's like they didn't exist."

Henry seems to remember something. "That apple pie… I _knew _I smelled vinegar. That was a sharlotka!"

"I thought she said it was traditional?" says Jasper.

"It is," replies Henry. "In _Moscow_."

"Not Moscow," Blondie appears at the door behind them, and they turn around. "Kiev." She tries to get to Sputnik but Henry won't get out of the way. "It was my grandmother's recipe, but my father would make it for us on Thanksgiving. Makes it traditional for me."

"She can't take all three of us." states Jasper.

"No, I can't." replies Blondie. She looks like she hates herself. "But those men will be along, and trust me, they can."

"Trust you?" asks Henry incredulously. "How can we trust you when you're acting like a Russian spy?"

"I'm as American as you, Henry." argues Blondie. "More than you; I've even lived here longer."

"And what about your friends?"

"They're not my friends. I only met them two weeks ago."  
>"Then why are you helping them?"<br>"Because… they threatened my family."

The kids look at each other and then sit down to listen to Blondie, who obviously has more to say. She turns her back to them, unable to look any of them in the eye.

"Fifty-two years after it supposedly burnt up, Sputnik finally fell out of orbit and crashed in a Virginia pasture. Those two men were sent to recover it."  
>"But why you?" Henry interrupts. "How did you get involved?"<p>

"My father was a sleeper. A KGB agent sent to live here in the States as an American. After he died, I wanted to forget about his double life. What the world was told about Sputnik was wrong. But then two weeks ago, those men showed up. They said since Daddy was gone, it was my… duty… to help them."

"And as a student at Smithson, you had access…" says Henry.

"To the people who had access to the DOUM rooms." finishes Blondie.

"So the whole reason you talked to me…? You interviewed me? That was all fake? You were just using me?" Henry asks, looking annoyed.

Blondie looks even more miserable. "Henry, I had to find away. If I refused, they threatened to expose me and my family. We'd be deported, or put in jail, or worse."

"I owe you another apology," Henry turns to Maggie. "You were right to be suspicious of Whitney."

"If that's even her real name." adds Jasper.

Blondie turns away from the guys, ready to cry. Maggie stands up and walks over to her. _And __hugs_ _her_.

Okay, so even though I have newfound sympathy for Blondie, I'm still not happy that Maggie's changed her mind about her. If she changes her mind, then Henry might. And that could lead to something a helluva lot more problematic than the Russian mob acquiring Sputnik.

The guys look _really_ confused.

"Wait, now you're friends?" Henry inquires.

Maggie lets go of Blondie and turns to Henry. "Now I know what she's been hiding, and now we know why. If anyone needs a friend right now, it's Whitney."

Can't you get someone else to do it? Does it _have_ to be you and, by extension, _Henry_?

The guys are still really confused.

"I-I'm sorry," says Jasper. "Did you miss the whole part about her being a Russian spy? Plus, she totally tooled with Henry's feelings."

"Seriously, Jasper?" demands Maggie. "Do you really think the Russian government would force a teenage girl to steal something that already belonged to them?" Jasper tries to stammer a rebuttal but Maggie keeps going. "Those guys were probably in the Russian mob. The question now is why."

The room is silent for a moment. Then Jasper remembers something. "Hey, do you guys remember how we couldn't figure out why there were voices coming from it? Well, there was a sealed compartment in there; I never figured out how to open it."

_Or_ we could just give Sputnik to the police and have _them_ deal with it. But I don't think they're gonna go for that.

"Jasper, get your pliers." Henry says. "Let's see what Sputnik's hiding."

After doing and saying a bunch of tech-y stuff that I don't understand, Jasper gets Sputnik plugged into his laptop. He clicks a button and a blurry image pops up on the screen. After the image gets clearer and the voices start up, we have a better idea of what we're looking at.

"I think these are radio intercepts of video feed." ventures Jasper.

"We finally found out why." Henry says quietly.

Okay, so maybe the mob wasn't planning to sell Sputnik on the black market as an objet d'art or whatever like I originally thought.

"Sputnik wasn't just history's first manmade satellite…" says Maggie.

"It was history's first-ever spy satellite." Henry realizes.

"That's an air-force base." Maggie states, looking at the screen.

"So that's why it was a secret." Jasper muses. "It's been up there all this time, spying on America."

Blondie shakes her head in shock. "I was never told about this. Th-they never said anything about this."

"Do you know how much this is worth?" wondered Jasper.

"Terrorists, hostile governments…" says Maggie, making me feel worse for not doing more to stop the mobsters.

"Organized crime would pay a fortune for this." adds Jasper.

Yep, thanks for twisting the knife, Jasper.

I didn't know what Sputnik was for! I just thought it would end up in some rich guy's collection gathering dust! But _apparently_ the whole frickin' nation is at risk because this damn little tin can holds the key to America's destruction!

"If I help those guys get what they want, then more people are going to get hurt." states Blondie. 'We have to stop them. I can live with whatever happens to me and my family after that."

"We are not gonna let that happen, Whitney." asserts Henry. "C'mon, we'll lock it up in Uncle Bryan's office until it all gets sorted out."

I follow the kids and Blondie through the museum. We round the corner and see the mobsters are hanging around the door that leads to the school.

"Change of plan," states Henry as he backs up and heads another direction. "We'll never be able to get Sputnik safely into Uncle Bryan's now. There's gotta be another way to get Sputnik out of here."

"There is," answers Maggie. "Our rocket. But it's on the other side of those guys."

"Wait, seriously?" asks Jasper.

The kids and Blondie stop in front of the Triceratops skeleton.

"Right now, launching Sputnik is our only option." stresses Henry. "A bad idea is better than being killed."

"Our infamous rocket expo flameout; it's still in the science lab." states Maggie.

"Maggie won't admit it, but the only reason the rocket flamed out is because we had to do everything her way."  
>"Because everything <em>you<em> were doing was wrong!" she bites back.

"_Because_ you wouldn't let me explain what I was trying to do!"

Jasper and Maggie were ready to really go at each other's throats, but Henry interrupts them.

"'The weak can never forgive,'" quotes Henry. "'Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong.'"

"Indira Gandhi again?" asks Maggie.

"This time Mahatma." he replies with a smile. "Good guess, though." Then he returns his attention to the flameout. "How about it? Can you two handle launching the rocket?"

Jasper and Maggie look at each other and smile.

"Sputnik will ride again." Jasper says like a total nerd as he gives Maggie a fist bump.

"I'll set up the boosters!" she says excitedly. "Unless you want to—"

"No no no, command module for me. I mean, unless that's—"

They go on like that for a second or two more, and all I can think is: A rocket? Really? We're in a huge crowded building with multiple exits and a _rocket _is our only hope? Okay, so maybe it is; there are guards at every exit who would like to know what's in the bag, and the door to the school only needs a keycard. And the mobsters are here so hiding it in Uncle Bryan's office won't help now. But launching a rocket? Won't that, like, alert Homeland Security or something? That'd be bad, right? Since nobody's suggested going to the authorities?

"Okay, already!" whispers Henry, trying to get them to focus. "Now all we need is a diversion."

So Henry and Blondie are bait, since Jasper and Maggie need to set up the rocket. There's a basketball in the bag, which is like half the size of Sputnik. I hope the mobsters don't notice that too soon.

Henry and Blondie walk towards the door until they're noticed, then turn around, trailed by the mobsters.

"Can you act scared?" questions Henry.

"I don't need to act!" Blondie whispers back.

The mobsters step ahead of them and cut them off, and as they turn I check to see if they have guns tucked in their belts; I don't see any. They _really_ underestimated the difficulty of this mission. It's kind of embarrassing.

"Stop!" Evil Mobster demands in a really thick accent. "Didn't we make it clear what would happen if you refused to cooperate?" Blondie looks scared. "Give us what we want. Or maybe you'll be looking a lot like stegosaurus here."

"It's triceratops." corrects Popcorn Mobster in an equally thick accent. "Three horns. That's how you tell. It's like tricycle. Or triangle. Or, a—"

"Give us Sputnik." Evil Mobster is pissed. "Now!"

Feigning defeat, Henry starts taking Sputnikball out of the bag. "You want it, you got it." Then he throws the bag and ball at the goons. "Heads up!"

They run away while the mobsters are confused.

They barely make it through the door; Evil Mobster manages to get his foot in the door before it closes, and Henry is stuck pulling at the handle. Eventually Henry kicks his foot out and they're able to the shut the door.

The sound of the mobsters cursing in Russian fades as we head for the science lab.

"Hey, they're right behind us," warns Henry as we enter the room. Outside the window on a flat part of the roof is Sputnik, and it looks like a rocket is jammed up its ass.

"Good idea to get down." Maggie advises.

"Cover your heads. Ears, too." adds Jasper.

Pffft. I'm not doing any of that. I take a seat on one of the lab tables.

"Ready," says Maggie. "Four, three, two—"

"You know what? Just live your dream." Jasper pushes the launch button closer to Maggie.

"Jasper, how did you know?" she asks with a smile.

Oh my gods. Seriously? This is not the time. I tug my hood over my head and groan.

"I've always known. I mean I've known since the time we started building the—"

Henry taps Jasper on the shoulder. "Push the button."

Attaboy, Henry.

Maggie does. Nothing happens. They all look confused. Then Jasper presses it. More projectile dysfunction. Then they decide to press it together. The tables and beakers and tubes start shaking and the kids are smiling as the rocket emits a ton of smoke. We hurry to the window and watch as Sputnik is launched into the air.

Feeling almost out of the woods, we head out into the hall.

"Where's it coming down?" asks Henry.

"Jasper was in charge of the reentry coordinates."  
>"I just left them at the default settings."<p>

"Which was?" Maggie inquires.

Jasper makes an _oh, crap!_ face and Maggie looks irritated. "Tell me it's not your home address."

"I am so dead!" exclaims Jasper, and they all hurry down the hall.

"You're dead? Wait 'till _my_ father gets the news!" says Maggie.

I wish they had waited to talk when they were outside; somehow the mobsters got in the school and I see their heads pop out of a classroom as the kids and Blondie race away.

"You hurt them, you're dead." I warn the goons before running after the kids.

It must be the adrenaline that's been coursing through them all day, because I don't know how in the hell they got all the way to Jasper's house on foot so fast. It's a half-hour walk from the museum.

Thankfully, the rocket is not protruding from the roof.

"Downside, I'd give your aeronautical landing estimates a B minus. Upside: if your navigation computer had been any better, your house would be toast." Maggie comments as we approach the small burning crater on the other side of the street from the Bartlett house. Stanton Park is mercifully deserted right now. We're lucky it only destroyed a picnic table.

The mobsters are right behind us, and neither the kids nor Blondie realize it. Evil Mobster grabs Blondie by the arm and drags her to his side.

"Step back, all of you!" he warns. "Give us what we want, and all of you can go back to picking zits and stressing about the SATs."

Yeah, he's really underestimating them. They should've brought their guns.

"Stressing?" challenges Jasper. "If you only knew my system."

"I already scored twenty-three hundred. _Twice._" brags Maggie.

"Ha!" Jasper adds.

"SATs, is that a satellite thing?" says a totally clueless Henry.

Jasper groans inwardly and the mobsters look pretty annoyed, too.

"You!" demands Evil Mobster, gesturing to Henry. "Yeah, Monkey Boy. Go get Sputnik, or I throw girl in fire."

Henry and Blondie glance at each other, but Evil Mobster is out of patience. "Do it, now! No more delays!"

Henry takes off his shoes and moves closer to the crater. I should be freaking out right now, but I was told he learned how to do this kind of thing is Botswana.

He walks across the burning ground and past the flames. I wince when he reaches into Sputnik's hot metal husk and pulls out a tube-looking thing on a wire.

"Is this what you want? The video footage?" Henry dangles it at them.

Evil Mobster gives him his best satisfied grin. "Give it here, boy."

"You get it when you let her go." asserts Henry as he walks back out of the crater.

Blondie says, "No, Henry!" but the Mobsters are willing to make the exchange. They push her over to Jasper and Maggie.

When Henry gets close enough to give it to them, Evil Mobster holds out his hand. "Now you give."

"You want it?" teases Henry. "Go and get it!"  
>He tosses the video footage into the crater, where it cracks and sparks as the fire destroys it.<p>

"No!" shouts Evil Mobster, punctuating his cry with a very obscene Russian curse.

Hey, look! Military Vehicles! Okay, I get the kids' plan now.

"Oh, you're going to pay for this!" threatens Evil Mobster, he and his sour-faced partner unaware of the giant camo Hummers rolling up behind them. "I'm going to bury you in this fire pit! I'm going to kill you all!"

"Can you say that a little louder?" says Henry.

"Louder?" asks Evil Mobster.

"Yeah," Then Henry points to the soldiers heading towards them. "I don't think they heard you."

Maggie hides behinds Jasper as this in charge-looking guy marches up to the group. Hey, I know him! He was that guy in the flower shop the day Helle came to see me! Hi, Mister! I like your beret!

Wait a minute; does his name patch say what I think it says?

"So, which one of you amateur astronauts launched a rocket and set off every air defense alarm in D.C.?" he demands.

The four kids look at each other guiltily and then (Captain? Colonel? Major?) Winnock notices there's someone hiding behind the gawky kid with chestnut-brown hair. "You, you! You in the back, come one out where I can see you. Come on out!"

Maggie winces, reluctantly obeying her dad. "Hi, Daddy,"

"Maggie?" says Mr. Winnock in surprise. Henry raises his eyebrows, previously unaware of what Maggie's dad does for a living.

"What's going on here?" questions Mr. Winnock.

"Ask them," offers Henry, gesturing to the mobsters. "But don't be surprised if they answer in Russian."

"Russian?" says Popcorn, acting shocked and looking at Mr. Winnock innocently. "Do we sound Russian? No way, we're just good citizens. Here to help."

"Making sure all these little geniuses are okay." adds Evil Mobster, his accent no less suspicious. "Everything is under control so," The mobsters shrug and turn to leave. "We go?"

"Grab these guys," commands Mr. Winnock. His soldiers do so and the mobsters are taken off to the vehicles.

"_Do svidaniya, tovarishchi!" _I yell after them, teasing. They're probably the most embarrassing Russian bad guys I've ever met.

"So, what's this supposed to be?" asks Mr. Winnock, pointing to the burning crater.

"Uh," Maggie swallows nervously. "Dad, that's Sputnik."

We all wait for him to freak out, but he just smiles incredulously. "Sputnik?" He chuckles, and the kids know they're off the hook. "That's great, sweetie." Mr. Winnock walks to the Hummers, signaling to his soldiers to follow. "C'mon guys, let's move out. Call the fire department and get this cleaned up."

I let out a sigh of relief and follow the kids and Blondie back to the museum. Speaking of Blondie, what am I going to do with her? Henry's smiling at her like, well, like she's going to cause me a lot of trouble. My beef with her isn't as bad as it was, because she _is_ a nice person, but still. I have Razzy on standby but I don't have a reason for her to move. I mean she'll probably get cleared when they find out about her past, since she never actually did anything wrong. And how will they find out about her past anyway, if Maggie's dad didn't believe about Sputnik? I guess the mobsters will blab and Mr. Winnock will believe it then.

So I call Rasmus and tell him a basic version of what happened, including Blondie's family history.

"Alright, then." he replies, sounding confident. "I'll keep track of it; wouldn't be the first time I've hacked the FBI. If her family ends up staying, I know what to do."

"You do? Do you mind telling me? 'Cause the way you said it makes me uneasy. It's not like I want her dead. Far away from here, sure. But not dead."

"No worries, dude. All it'll take is a smile and two simple words."

Still not reassuring. "'Kill yourselves?'"

"No, you weirdo," he chuckles. "'Fresh start.'"

Sunday, four-twenty in the afternoon. The kids are in the exhibit finishing up their shame pole made of toilets. Rasmus hasn't contacted me, yet, even though he said he was going to talk to the Colemans this morning. I shouldn't be worried; he's a Vampire, for Pete's sake. But I am worrying, so to distract myself I'm walking around, looking at the exhibits.

"Hey, guys!" greets Blondie, walking up to the kids.

Did it not work?!

"Oh, hey," says Jasper.

"So, what's the verdict?" inquires Henry.

Georgia Georgia Georgia Georgia—

"Well, thanks to the recommendation from Maggie's dad, the FBI cleared us." announces Blondie. "Me, my mom, my sisters… We don't have to hide who we are anymore." That's lovely and I'm _so_ happy for you, but do you have to stay in D.C.?

"That's fantastic, Whitney." Maggie congratulates.

"Yeah, it is," responds Blondie. "Except, um… My mom wants us to get a fresh start." _Oh? _"She's in Georgia right now."

Overcome with joy, I involuntarily punch the air in triumph and do a ridiculous happy dance.  
>"Like the Republic of Georgia?" asks Henry. "Eastern Europe?"<p>

Whitney chuckles. "Atlanta, Georgia. Once she finds a place, we're all going."

Aw! Everyone looks so sad! Maggie steps forward and hugs her, saying a lengthy Russian goodbye as she does so. Whitney responds in kind, and Jasper looks flummoxed.

"Uh, yeah, okay, bye, Whitney." And he hugs her, too. I wouldn't mind hugging her right now, even if she is a reporter.

Then Henry and Whitney are left alone.

"Well," says Whitney. "Finally going someplace."

"The first trip of many."

She blushes a bit and opens her bag. "I have something of yours to give back."

"Of mine?"

Whitney pulls out the picture she took of him and laughs. "After everything you did for me, it wouldn't be right to steal your soul."

Henry stares at his picture a while and gives her a smile that makes me worry. "Keep it; I know it's in good hands."

She is being equally worrisome. "Thanks, Henry," Then she puts a hand to his neck and kisses his cheek and I'm back to calling her Blondie. "For everything." She has to hug him, too?

"Can you please go to Georgia, now?" I mumble.

"What are friends for?" Henry replies.

I have a frown on my face as they pull apart and Blondie leaves. I was so close to liking her.

Jasper and Maggie come back in with Sputnik's empty shell.

"You were right, Henry," Maggie admits. "Working together on this is a lot better than just fighting all the time."

Henry climbs a ladder so he can take the little TV off the top of the shame pole. He hands Jasper the TV and takes Sputnik from Maggie.

"Aren't you glad you gave up on that bright green toilet seat?" Maggie asks Jasper as Henry places Sputnik on top of the pole.

"Well, considering your dad wrote off the rocket launch as a school project, I figured it was the least I could do."

"So, you're permanent record is safe?" questions Henry.

"Uh-huh," nods Jasper.

"At least until your dad gets home and sees the big crater across the street." teases Henry.

My Blondie-induced frown becomes a full-on pout when I realize what they've done to Sputnik. A shining accomplishment of my people… and they put it on top of a shame pole. The little bastards.

It probably wasn't the best idea, but I took Sputnik before I left the exhibit. What kind of Russian would I be if I left it on the shame pole?

I'm holding it out in front of me like a big beach ball as I walk through the empty school hallway; the kids are just hanging around in the museum, so they're okay without me right now. And anyway, I can hear that they've just come back to see the project exhibit and are wondering where Sputnik is.

"Well, we probably shouldn't have put it up there to begin with," says Jasper. "I mean it is Sputnik, and that's a shame pole."

See? _He_ gets it. The kids argue for a few minutes and then decide to just let it go, since the Russian space-doohickey is no longer dangerous. I laugh to myself and keep meandering down the halls with my round metal buddy.

I hear a locker creak open and decide to go check it out. It's Blondie. She must be here to get her school stuff.

"Nothing against you, Blondie," I say, feeling kind of bad because she looks upset as she empties her locker. "But I can't have you hanging around the kids. Your nosy, reporter-y personality is part of it. It's not the main thing, though. The deal is Henry's already taken, and I can't risk him liking you. It's this whole big thing that not even he knows about and—"

I pause when I see her pull out his picture. She leans against the closed locker next to hers and stares at it. Minding my rotund Sputnik belly, I lean in and try to figure out what she's doing.

"I totally should've kissed you." she says under her breath to the picture.

Oh, dear. That was the wrong thing to say.

"Ouch!" Blondie drops the picture and yelps as the four small cuts below her thumb well with blood. She looks around in a panic, wondering how in the hell she just injured herself.

Ew ew ew ew ew! I gag at the taste of her blood, which is _disgusting_ and difficult to swallow. Okay, so she really is a good person; the better a person is, the worse they taste, and vice versa. I should've guessed she'd be that way, but I hate the thought of her holding a torch for him after all I've done to keep them apart. So I nipped at her to make her drop the picture.

Angelblood is still distracted, trying to figure out what happened. So I duck down and pick up the picture, making it invisible. My face is still scrunching up in revulsion as I turn to leave.

But I can't leave yet. The taste in my mouth and the look on her face is really getting to me. I think she might cry.

"I'm sorry about everything, Whitney." I admit, watching her close her locker in frustration before she walks away.

Man, I am such a jerk.


	13. Admittance

It's ten o'clock at night and I'm lying on my favorite tree branch, still feeling crummy about how I treated Whitney. I know I overreacted; I just couldn't handle failing again.

The sound of rodent chatter distracts me from my mopey trance.

"Oh. Hey, Carl." I say to the squirrel scurrying up the trunk. He nods as he scampers past me to the branch above me. I make him invisible just before he undoes the Velcro strap securing his iPhone to his back. Then he quickly morphs into his true form.

"Why are you here?"

He takes a moment to brush some bits of dried leaves that cling to his heather-gray Henley before answering. "Daisy says she wants you to try some cookies she baked. I'm here to take over while you're gone."

Carl doesn't sound as chipper as I'm used to. Maybe he wishes he could go eat the cookies with me.

"Ok, thanks. I'll bring some back for you."

"Uh-huh." he replies. Ok, so maybe he's not upset about the cookies.

"What's wrong?"

"Just go eat your cookies." Carl says with all the enthusiasm of Eeyore before turning back into a squirrel.

Worried, I stare at him for a second before making him visible and jumping down from the tree.

I'm practically drooling the moment I enter Daisy's apartment through my bedroom window; the smell of the cookies is that good. Daisy is sitting on her couch, looking over her shoulder at me as I walk over to her.

"Hope you're hungry," she says as I sit down next to her on the couch. On the coffee table in front of us is a small mountain of hand-sized cookies on a platter.

"Those look like chocolate cookies with peanut-butter chips."

"They are."

My mood instantly picks up and I snatch one off the tray like a pilfering urchin. It tastes like happiness and rainbows and I'm pretty sure she used some Unicorn bone meal in the flour.

"Mm, thanks, Daze. These cookies are_ good_." I gush, my mouth full of sugary goodness.

"We need to talk."

"Talk?" My good mood pops like a Hubba Bubba bubble. "You only said you wanted me to try these cookies. Have I been invited here under false pretenses?"

She cocks her head in a way that says she's disappointed in me. "Dimitri, Carl told me how you handled the threat."

I take another bite of cookie to stall. "I sent her away. The Alphas said I could."

"Carl said she was graduating this year and then heading to Columbia University. She wouldn't even be around next year to jeopardize anything."

"But she and Henry had a thing going on!" I counter through a mouthful of cookie. "They made googly eyes! And it could've resulted in a long-distance relationship next year. I couldn't risk that. And she's a _reporter_. Can't have someone that snoopy hanging around; my Father Alpha said so."

Daisy raises an eyebrow. "Carl knows you bit her."

What? How could he know that?!

"I… ah…"

"Just because you haven't kept Carl in the loop doesn't mean he doesn't know what's going on. He knows about the flirty reporter. He kept waiting for you to talk to him about it, but you haven't talked to him since Wednesday. He's still been keeping an eye out. So when he saw her walk off with Henry's picture, he changed into a mouse and followed her. He saw her cry out and drop it. He thought it was odd that it disappeared… and that her hand was bleeding for no apparent reason."

I shift in my seat. "I didn't want her to carry a torch for him, so I thought I needed to take it."

"You didn't have to bite her!" she snaps. "Granted, she is a reporter, but it's not like she knew she was doing anything wrong. You know that." I look down, and she leans forward to make eye contact with me. "Sweetie, you've been awful quiet about how things went with Maggie. Are you sure you're just not taking your frustration out on this girl?"

Frowning, I cross my arms and turn away from her.

"That looks like a 'yes'."

"It didn't go well." I mumble.

She puts a hand on my shoulder. "The Alphas won't be mad at you for that."

"Are you serious? Look at how they've invested in that moment going well! Helle built a childhood's worth of memories in case I needed them! They hired Shapeshifters to pose in pictures and they bought me all this stuff and they created documents and it was all so I could have a Mortal identity so I could date her! And I screwed up! I screwed up and it was all for nothing!" I fight to keep my lip from quivering as I vomit up the rest of my pent-up rant. "She didn't like me! At all! We talked a bit but she was so mean before she left and I just know it was something I did!" I let my head fall into Daisy's lap as I growl in frustration. She starts petting my hair sympathetically.

"She probably thinks I'm an idiot! I couldn't stop saying stupid things." I bury my face into Daisy's poufy skirt. "And she probably thinks I'm ugly!" I whine, muffled by all the tulle. "I am such a loser!"

"Oh, my poor pumpkin, don't worry about what that girl thinks of you; it's not your fault." Daisy coos. "It must be rough to be stuck at your age."

What she means is that Immortals don't just look a certain age; they act it, too. I'm biologically seventeen, so I'm stuck at this emotional maturity. It can be a lot to deal with.

Wiping at my eyes ('cause they're itchy), I turn so I'm looking up at her. "Are you saying I'm acting like a total teenager?"

"Yes. A big, mopey, pathetic teenager."

"Oh yeah? Well, you're a stupid-head." I respond with a weak smile. "And we're not all lucky enough to get stuck at a mature age like you."

"You mean twenty-two? I suppose so. But then that means I don't have a good reason for throwing a fit."

"Of course you do; you're a woman."

With a playful scoff, she shoves me off her lap and onto the floor. She doesn't apologize, even though my face hits the edge of the coffee table on the way down.

"Would you like to take the rest of the cookies with you?" she asks as my forehead stops hurting.

"I don't want your lie cookies!" I glare at her. "But I'll take them anyway."

She smiles sweetly. "Will you split them with Carl?"

"Actually, I planned to leave them out on the Bartlett's kitchen counter for the guys."

"Aw, Really?"

"Nah, I'll split them with Carl. Those boys put Sputnik at the top of a shame pole; they don't deserve cookies."

Daisy slips a big paper bag out from under the platter and starts placing the cookies inside.

"Do you feel bad?" Her voice is soft. I'm glad she's not mad at me anymore. "About the girl I mean. The one you sent away."

I nod, my earlier feelings of awfulness coming back. "She's not a bad person. But maybe she'll like Georgia. She might even fall for a boy whose fate isn't foretold in an ancient prophecy. And she's always wanted to travel, so…"

Daisy smiles. "I may be from Georgia, but I'll admit that it's probably not what that girl had in mind when she thought about traveling. I guess she should've been more careful about what she wished for."

"Georgia's great, though! It has… peaches…"

"It gets pretty hot down there."

"Please, Daze. I feel bad enough."

She hands me the bag full of cookies, and I receive it like it's full of diamonds. As I get up to leave, she stops me.

"Go back to the museum this week and try again with Maggie."

"But—"

"Starting tomorrow. I'm not saying you should go look for her; just stay visible and don't avoid her."

I give her my best kicked-puppy pout. "But she doesn't like me."

She takes my face in her hands and squishes it. "How can anyone not wike dis pwiddy face?" Daisy teases in a baby voice. "You've got da qutest widdle face in da whole wide world!"

"Umm… Thanks?" This is a weird pep talk and I don't know how to handle it.

Daisy beams and lets go. "If I find out that you haven't talked to her by Friday, I will baby talk to you in public."

My eyes widen. "Really? You'll even squish my face?" I ask, impressed by this unusual but effective threat.

"Yep." Her expression is stern but I can tell she's fighting back a smile to make sure I know she's serious. "If she works tomorrow, then you better be wandering around that museum ready to bump into her. I mean it; I'll have the foliage keep me informed, down to the last blade of grass. So you better at least to talk to her. Is that understood?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"There's my good pumpkin!" She kisses me on the forehead. "Now return to your post and apologize to Carl."

When I get back to the house, I climb onto my favorite branch and look around for Carl. Amazingly, he's on the same branch as when I left. I make him invisible and shake the bag at him.

"I have food!" I say, hoping he'll perk up. His little squirrel nose twitches, but instead of holding out his little squirrel paws for a cookie he turns his back to me.

"Carl, come on," I shake the bag again. Then I take out a sample of sugary delight and wave it at him. "Lookie, lookie, I've got a cookie!" Still nothing.

Even worse, he decides to climb up a few branches and then jump onto the roof.

"Carl! Get your furry ass over here so I can apologize!"

He doesn't obey, but he does turn to face me, which is good enough.

"I'm sorry I didn't keep you informed. I think that I was afraid that you'd stop me or tell me I was being too hard on her. I know that I was. But I was already so angry and frustrated because things went so badly with Maggie, and I didn't want to take chances with this new threat. I saw her flirt with him and it reminded me that I failed to neutralize the last threat. The Alphas had so much faith in me and I failed. I really didn't want to mess up again. So I overdid it and I took out my anger on that poor girl who didn't do anything wrong. Did you know she does charity work? Or it's something like that. She, like, helps the teachers with their finances and does all this other nice stuff. Seriously, I even tasted her blood and she's totally legit. And I was mean to her. She's a really nice girl and I made her cry. I kept telling myself it was necessary, that I needed to discourage her from liking Henry. I had to be thorough. I had to get rid of her. And I knew you'd stop me, knew you'd realize that my anger was coming from somewhere else. So I left you out of the loop. I'm sorry, Carl."

Squirrel Carl blinked at me. For a second I'm not sure if he's accepted my apology, but then he hold out his tiny paws. I throw him a cookie.

"You had me worried." he says after taking his true form. "I didn't know how things went with you and Maggie, but since you didn't tell me or Daisy about it, I figured it didn't go well. Then this pretty, obvious threat comes bouncing along and I knew you'd want her dealt with. You told me about Maggie being a threat, so I thought you'd tell me about this one. But you didn't. Then yesterday I saw you bite her, and… Well, I didn't think she deserved it."

"She didn't." I reply as he bites into his cookie.

"You were kind of a jerk about it."

"No kidding."

We're both silent as he finishes his cookie.

"Wow, that was really good." he comments as he swallows the last mouthful. "I forgive you, by the way."

"Thanks,"

"After all, she _was_ a reporter. It not like she could be allowed to hang around the kids if they're being followed by us."

"I know, right?!" I shove a cookie in my mouth. "Dat coulda been a didasder!"

"She's too snoopy too be trusted!"  
>"Exactly!"<p>

"Another cookie, please."

I toss him one.

"Daisy said I have to talk to Maggie tomorrow. Or at least try to."

"Good luck, then." he replies, swinging his legs and clearly more interested in his cookie.

"Any advice?" It's probably good to ask him, since he's surprisingly good with women.

"Umm… sock puppets are a good ice breaker only forty percent of the time."

He's actually serious, isn't he? Oh, gods, I think he is. But I'll play along so I don't hurt his feelings.

"Good to know. Anything else?"

"Don't tell her she's smart; she hears that all the time. And she knows she's pretty, too, so there's no point in telling her that, either. Also, that complement is unoriginal. And try to make her laugh."

Wow, that was actually pretty useful. "I'll remember that. Thanks."

He gives me his big, Carl-y smile and sticks his hand out for another cookie. "And if you could be less of a dork, that might help, too."


	14. Lunch

Yesterday, Daisy told me I had to talk to Maggie again and I really, really don't want to; I'm not in the mood to be rejected. But everything leafy and green is spying on me for her, so I should at least look like I'm trying.

I'm at the museum again, visible as I take in the antiquities. I found this beautiful painting called "Helen Brought to Paris" by Benjamin West. It's very Renaissance, even though it was painted in 1776. None of them look right; the people in the painting, I mean. Paris was way better looking than this guy, and the Cupid I know is definitely not a toddler with wings. The real Aphrodite is much prettier than this half-naked portrayal. And this Helen is kinda pretty, but she's got nothing on Mother. I shouldn't be so critical—It's not like this West guy knows any better—but I can't help comparing it to the one Da Vinci painted. Helle helped him get everyone just right. Too bad it has to stay in the Great Vault, along with some other stuff he's made recently.

I suddenly flinch as the feeling hits me: that horrible, powerful, unmistakable feeling. My eyes hurt like they would if I had suddenly opened them in the light after spending several hours in total darkness, because my pupils have quickly contracted into slits, like a cat's. I reflexively look down so no one can see how freaky my eyes look right now, even though I'm wearing my shades. I'm not too worried about weirding people out though, because there are much stronger emotions holding my attention. I look around carefully for the cause of my reaction.

Just a few feet away, a guy in his mid-to-late thirties is walking with his wife and six-year-old daughter towards the nearby hall. As soon as I lay eyes on him I'm bombarded with visions: terrible, awful visions of the things he's done. The strong emotions that are consuming my focus—rage, indignation, bloodlust— burn with greater intensity with every new insight to his atrocities. My stomach rumbles and my throat burns.

Looks like I've found lunch.

Doing my best to be subtle, I follow after him, stopping to turn invisible behind a statue on the way. My eyes still hurt, and the closer I get to the guy, the worse the pain gets. The fury and hunger are building up in me like magma, and if I can't find a decent place to kill him soon I might erupt and strike him down in the middle of this crowded hallway. Seriously, the feeling is that strong. I haven't encountered one this bad in at least fifty years.

Sometimes it's the people who look the most normal that end up high on the hit list. This guy looks like an average Joe—thinning hair, kind of tall, plaid button-down and khakis—more boring than psychotic. He totally looks like he could be a dad on a sitcom. It's a great façade; I'm really impressed. He's probably got all his neighbors and coworkers fooled, but not me, and certainly not his wife and little daughter. They know what he is even better than I do.

My eyes ache so much that I want to tear them out, my stomach is growling so loud it's practically roaring, and I'm shaking so badly that I have to stuff my hands in my pockets to keep them from twitching. The growing proximity is what's causing my violent reaction, but I can't leave him alone. I won't. There's no way I can just forget about this, not when I know what he's done to them.

Oh, yes! He's heading towards the men's room! Now's my chance! I practically jog to the men's room, but before I go in I stop to look at the wife and daughter waiting on a nearby bench. The wife is built tall and slender, like a ballerina. Her eyes are jade green and complement her light brown hair. She's kind of pretty. I wonder if people notice how tense or tired she looks, or that she has bruises peeking out from under her shirt cuffs. The little girl looks a lot like her mother, and seems too quiet for a six-year-old. She's just sitting there, soundless, not even fidgeting, holding a Superman doll. Why would a six-year-old girl dressed all in pink have that? Shouldn't she have a Barbie?

I don't want to waste any more time. He might be out soon. I slip into the bathroom as someone exits and see the guy is at a urinal. I look around, and except for me and him there is no one else here. Groovy. I was hoping it could happen this way.

He steps away from the urinal and goes to wash his hands. I turn visible without him seeing me. "On vacation with the family?" Startled, he turns away from the mirror to look at me. I take off my shades and watch with malevolent glee as his eyes grow wide when he notices my pupils.

"Uh… yes. Yes, we're here from Delaware." I guess he's going to pretend there's nothing wrong with me.

"I think I saw your little girl out there. She has your eyes."

He's totally buggin' but trying to hide it. "Yeah that's probably her, my sweet little Camilla." His laugh sounds nervous. Good. He should be nervous.

"She's your sweet little baby girl?" I ask innocently, and he nods. He looks afraid. "Do you love her?" I look him straight in the eye as I say it, my voice sickeningly sweet. I can see the blood draining from his face.

He suddenly goes from looking frightened to looking offended. "What's the matter with you, freak? Leave me alone!"

As he moves towards the door, I turn us both invisible without him realizing it, mostly so no one could hear him scream. I step in front of him and make him stop. Ugh, gross—he smells like cigarette smoke. I hate that smell. He looks at me, still teetering between fear and anger.

"It's just a simple question, sir. I suggest you answer it honestly." My voice is deadly calm.

The guy looks like he wants to throw a fit, but he answers. "Absolutely. Now get out of my way."

I don't budge. He looks like he's trying to intimidate me. I ask another question in the same steady voice. "What about your wife? Do you love her, too?"

No answer. He's just staring at me, no doubt inwardly freaking out. "I'm waiting."

"Yes." His answer is quiet. He can barely contain his anger.

And I can barely contain mine.

"Why do you hurt them, then?"

I caught him by surprise. "I… I don't know what you're talking about." It's so annoying when they lie. It only makes me want to kill them more.

"Oh, really? Ok, I'll just be more specific." I say, vehemence crawling up my throat and into my voice. "Why do you rape them?"

He's straight-up flabbergasted. Any sounds coming out of his mouth are unintelligible and inaudible. It's so obvious that his shock comes from me knowing his filthy secret rather than from my actual claim. I feel like my anger is oozing out of my pores.

"Is that still too fuzzy? Alright, fine, I'll make it easy for you." I take a half-step towards him, my scary eyes locked with his terrified ones. All the visions gather at the front of my mind to form a grotesque collage.

"As soon as you and your wife were married, you started treating her like property. You beat her if she upsets you and you force her when she doesn't want to have sex. You like to burn her stomach with lit cigarettes. Some nights, you tie her to the radiator." The visions are rushing out like vomit. "When she got pregnant with Camilla, you acted normal, loving even. But all that did was give her a break from the beatings and a false sense of security." He's still silent. I lean in slightly. "Didn't it?"

He made a sound almost like a whimper. I continue spewing out the tales of his violence. "You didn't hurt Camilla, not in the beginning. Her mom must've been so relieved, even though you went right back to punching your wife and screwing her so roughly she'd cry." My voice breaks on the last word. I can feel myself getting emotional. The visions are brutally vivid; it feels as if I'm there but I can't do anything to save them. If I were a younger, less experienced Immortal, I'd be driven to curling up in the fetal position while I held my head and screamed for the visions to stop. In every single image they have so many bruises… I snap back to the task at hand.

"You took your daughter's virginity when she was ten months old." Tears are welling in my eyes, but I blink them back. I fight to keep my voice steady. "And you've been raping her every day since. Not just you, though; there's also the men you sell her to." There's more, so much more I could say, but I can't. If I say any more, I'll cry.

He still hasn't moved or spoken. I want to attack him, to snuff him out like a candle, to save that poor mother and child from this monster. But I want to hear him confess.

"Will you admit to your depravities?" My voice is almost a whisper, and my narrowed eyes never leave his.

He's suddenly, foolishly bold. "My lawyer with eat you alive."

I explode with laughter. I sound manic, unstable, and disturbingly loud. "That is an interesting choice of words, sir, but your lawyer can't save you from me." I sober up slightly. "Are you going to admit to your sins or not?"

The man puts on a brave front. He leans in so we are only a few inches apart. "Yes. I did it. I did all of that, and a few things you don't know about. And you know what? I'm not sorry."

Yahtzee. He looks haughty, as if he feels untouchable. "What are you going to do? Tell on me? I'm a pillar in my community. It'll be my word against yours."

Oh what a silly, shameless man. "I'm not going to tell on you," My gums tingle as my fangs descend. "I'm going to kill you, you slimy son of a whore."

I am at his throat before he could even open his mouth to scream. As I rip out a chunk of his flesh, he utters a hoarse, piercing shriek that makes my ears ring. When I pull away, I chew and swallow the mangled lump of meat as I watch him clutch his bleeding neck. I wish I could drag this out more and make him suffer a bit, but I shouldn't make a mess: It wouldn't be smart to leave evidence of a struggle. I sink my fangs into his jugular and gulp down mouthfuls of blood until there isn't a drop left.

Once I was done draining him of his life's blood, I slung his limp body over my shoulder like a sack of mulch and carried it out of the bathroom. The stiff and I were invisible, so despite being in a crowd of people, no one screamed in horror. I'm sure it was a grizzly sight, if anyone could've seen it. I could feel drops of blood dripping down my mouth and chin and neck. The dead guy's eyes were still open because I hadn't bothered to close them. I had to find a decent place to dump the body, because I wasn't going to leave it in a family museum. I tossed his sorry sack of meat in the woods, but not before taking his Rolex and money. I texted Carl to let him know where to find the leftovers.

Now I'm back in the museum, cleaned up and satisfied. I don't plan to run into Maggie now, considering my recent activity. I'd feel awkward. I have until Friday, anyway. So I'm just going to hang around and listen for the kids while Carl eats out.

I'm back at that same painting as before, planning to start here and continue working my way around the exhibit. Then this lady with a stroller rolls up as I'm critiquing this otherwise awesome work of art and oh my gods it's a baby! Hi, baby! You're so teeny-tiny! Look at those pudgy little cheeks!

I am fighting with all my might to suppress my Pavlovian reaction. I want to kneel down and baby talk like a fool and boop the baby's widdle-biddy nose. But I'm resisting and just standing here, trying not to look away from the painting. Then I hear baby babble and I stupidly peek over. It's staring right at me with a huge smile on its face.

No, I'm not doing anything entertaining; I'm still just standing here. What's going on here is one of those uncanny Immortal things; children six and younger frickin' love us. They have no idea what we are, but they just know we're trustworthy. It's weird. I don't know how they can tell Immortals apart from regular people, but they just can. Even newborns go gaga whenever they're around us. It's probably my favorite thing about being Immortal, but it can make for odd situations, let me tell you.

The lady is on the phone, talking real estate and unaware of what her baby's doing. The little-bitty peanut can't be more than eight months old, and the blue shirt and overalls suggests it's a boy. I smile at him, and he makes this high-pitched "ah" sound which is _so_ cute. His mom is still on the phone and too busy to notice.

Okay, maybe I'll play with him for just a little bit.

I crouch down in front of him and his smile gets wider. Then he offers me a soggy Goldfish cracker off his tray.

"Oh, no thanks. I already had lunch." I tell him. He pops the goldfish in his mouth.

"What's your name?"

"Dih-dih." he answers. Then he pulls his small Beanie Baby puppy out from behind his back and holds it out to me. "Ah ba ba!"

I take it from him graciously. Then I stare it in its dead, plastic eyes before making very realistic growling noises, as if the puppy is about to attack me. "No… oh no—" Dih-dih laughs his little baby head off as I pretend to get my throat torn out by his Beanie Baby. This is when I realize that people are staring and some of them have their phones out and pointed our direction. I should really get up off the floor now.

Especially since one of the people staring is Maggie.

Maggie's id is _so_ annoying. Ever since she met that boy, Id had been bothering her about him. Every once in a while, something would remind her and she would angrily stamp out the uninvited thought; although she didn't stop herself from wondering at the timing. She met him the day before everything with Sputnik happened. A guy with a really Russian name talks to her just before the Russian mob goes after her and her friends? It's a strange coincidence to say the least. To think he was with the Russian mob is ridiculous, right? Or maybe he was with the Russian government. Oh, yeah; that makes _way_ more sense. He's a Russian spy sent here to get Sputnik. Yep, he's definitely a baby-faced, Slavic 007 pretending to be an adorably awkward teenage boy. That was undoubtedly the stupidest explanation she had ever considered. She didn't see him that whole entire time! The important part of Sputnik was destroyed and then Henry put Sputnik on top of the shame pole—

_And then Sputnik disappeared minutes later._ finishes Superego. Maggie nearly stops in her tracks as she heads down the hall. As if… as if that proves anything! Ha! Maggie laughs inwardly to herself as she points a lost tourist in the right direction.

He's just a boy. Most likely from out of town, too. Given some time, Maggie will forget all about him and stop thinking about how hot it would be if he really were a spy.

Maggie rounds a corner, trying not to blush as she chastises Id for the naughty images that are flashing in her mind. It's so irritating how that stupid, annoying, gorgeous boy could make you feel this way—

Speak of the Devil. It's him.

Id freaking _loses_ it as Maggie stares in shock at the unwelcome sight over by the Benjamin West painting. There he is, in that stupid, sexy leather jacket and messy, sexy hair. Superego is screaming silently and pulling her hair; she remembers what she promised Id.

_Look! LOOK! In your face, bitch! Hahahaha! _

He hasn't seen her yet, though. Maybe Maggie could just turn around and forget that she said she'd talk to him if she ever saw him again.

_Aw, now he's talking to that baby!_

And dammit, he's being really cute about it, too. The baby offered him food, and now he's handing him his little stuffed puppy. Then he makes the baby laugh hysterically by pretending to get mauled by the toy.

Yeah, _definitely_ a Russian spy.

When he finally realizes he's making a fool of himself, he notices her. He's beet-red as he hands the toy back to the baby and the amused mother rolls the stroller out of the exhibit.

Avoiding eye contact, he brushes the dirt off his jeans (_Let me do it! Shut up, Id!_) and shoves his hands into his jacket pockets.

"Exactly how much of that did you see?" he asks self-consciously, biting his bottom lip.

_I want you NOW!_

"Enough," she replies. Then she changes the subject. "You've been in town for a while."

"Well, yeah; I live, like, fifteen minutes away from the museum."

_Oh, son of a bitch. _Superego purses her lips and crosses her arms.

Maggie narrows her eyes and looks at him suspiciously. "So, you're not on vacation? Why aren't you in school, then?"

Embarrassed, he rocks back on his heels for a second. "I'm homeschooled. Daisy says I should come here every few days because this place is educational."

He's homeschooled? Guess that explains a lot. "Who's Daisy?"

"My guardian."  
>"Your guardian is a florist named Daisy?"<p>

"Her real name is Gertrude."

"Ah," Maggie nods, understanding the preference for a nickname. "Why do you have a guardian?" The burning question came out before she could stop it.

"My whole family's dead." He nervously blurted. "Um, well not my aunt. She's in London. Alive. But she didn't want me; I mean she couldn't take care of me. So she sent me here. To America."

Holy crap; he's an orphan. And the way he said it—"my whole family"—does that mean he has siblings? Or rather, had? What happened to them? And "to America" means he isn't from here, right? Is he from Russia, or England? Why does his American accent sound so good, then?

Who the hell is this kid?

Maggie smiles sympathetically. "So how long have you been in D.C.?"

"Since late September,"

Maggie blinks. "And long have you been in America?"

"Since I was twelve and a half," Dimitri doesn't seem eager to talk about his past, but as long he's willing, she wants to find out whatever she can.

"Where did you live before D.C.?"

She watches as he blushes deeply. "Las Vegas."

Her eyes widen. "You lived in Vegas? Is that where you lost your Russian accent?"

He chuckles. "No, it's where I lost my British one. London is where I lost my Russian accent."

"So you_ are_ from Russia!"

Smiling, Dimitri nods.

"Wow," Maggie shakes her head in amazement. "So you've lived in all those places? How old are you, anyway?"

"Seventeen,"

"So were you really young when you left Russia? Do you remember anything?"

Dimitri looks pained for a second, momentarily haunted. Then he clears his throat. "I was only seven, but I remember a lot."

_Way to go, Maggie¸ _Id quips. That must've been when he lost his parents and, possibly, his siblings. Maybe even more than that.

_Keep going, Maggie,_ says her superego. _It's in your best interest to make him uncomfortable and alienate him._

_ Shut up, Superego!__  
><em> "So… um, how long have you lived here?" he asks, trying to make things less awkward.

"I came to D.C. from Richmond when I was ten." It seemed fair to answer, since the one-sidedness was sounding like an interrogation.

"Hm," He nods. "So, that's ten years, then? You're like, twenty-something, right? Twenty-four, maybe?"

Stunned, she blinks at him. "…I'm barely sixteen, actually."

"Uh…" Dimitri blushes again. "Sorry, um, you're working during school hours and you act really old—Mature, I mean. You don't look old, though. I mean you do—uh, that is, you're well-developed—" He shuts his eyes, horrified. "Not like that. Not that you don't have curves, because I noticed you do—Not that I was checking you out—"

"So then you _weren't_ flirting with me last time? Since you thought I was too old for you?" she interrupted. He was flailing just fine by himself, but she wanted to spur him on. This was just too entertaining.

"Oh, no, I've been with plenty of women in their twenties—" His eyes get wide and his face gets redder than ever. Maggie is blushing now, too; she definitely hadn't expected that.

"Wow, Vegas must've been wild for you, huh?" she says, clumsily trying to ease the tension.

"Yeah, I could teach you a lot," He bites his lip, annoyed with himself for making yet another conversational blunder. It's like he can't think properly around her. She likes it, surprisingly.

Unfortunately, Id is now imagining of his educational value, which is making it hard for Maggie to think straight.

"I love learning," She stares at a nearby painting, futilely hoping she hadn't actually said that out loud.

"I wouldn't mind tutoring you," That inappropriate utterance was the last straw for him. Irritated with himself, he bowed his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I should go before this gets any more disastrous."

"Great idea!" she squeaked. Unsure whether she wanted to giggle or bang her head against a wall, she watched him stride quickly away from their train-wreck of a conversation. And yes, she totally checked out his ass.

That was horrible. Why did I have to bump into her?! The timing was so wrong! I killed a man, like, an _hour_ before talking to her! _Oh, hi, Maggie! What have I been up to? Why, I just killed a man in the public bathroom and dumped his exsanguinated corpse in the woods! How's your day going?_

Also, there was that baby thing. I was _such_ a dork! Writhing around on the floor in mock pain like a total fool… I can't believe she even stuck around.

And then there was my attempt to seem clueless about her. I knew that if last time really had been my first time seeing her, I would've thought she was much older, so I went with it. And that turned out just _great_, didn't it? Gods, that whole thing was tragic.

If it weren't for the sexual tension at the end, I'd say that was my last time talking to her.

I have to keep trying, don't I? For the sake of the prophecy, I mean.


End file.
